Outbreak
by Beregond5
Summary: G1. Infection. Epidemic... Devastation.
1. Prologue

_A/n: Influenced by survive/horror movies like 28 Days Later and I Am Legend. I hope you enjoy. :)_

* * *

First Aid hadn't been sure how he had ended up here, in the infirmary of the Autobot City. The last thing he remembered, truly remembered, was trying to help the humans from the infected Superion. After that, it had been nothing else but a string of images, hardly connected to the other, and yet one thing had stood out with absolute clarity: hate. It was like some sort of surreal dream from which he could not wake up and he had only escaped when someone – something? He wasn't sure – lifted that red veil from his optics and enveloped him reassuringly. Except the nightmare that had tormented him for Primus knew how long had only been replaced by another, much worse one. One where chaos and pain ruled.

"First Aid! Over here, man!"

First Aid responded to the call almost automatically, passing by the berths that were already occupied by injured Autobots, and approached Jazz. The saboteur was helping Inferno to walk, offering the larger mech his body for support.

"Show me where it hurts," First Aid said, already activating his scanner.

"Thigh joint," Inferno said tensely, though his optics kept drifting in every direction, looking for something. "Where's Red?"

"I haven't seen him yet," First Aid replied, focusing on his examination of the abused leg. "Hoist! See to Inferno's leg. The joint has been dislocated."

"Sure thing," Hoist said, approaching.

"First Aid!"

First Aid let Hoist and Jazz guide Inferno down on a chair, and he faced Cliffjumper. The minibot seemed agitated and worried as he walked up to the Protectobot.

"Pipes hasn't come back online."

"I know, Cliffjumper. Let him recharge; he needs it."

"Are you sure there's nothing wrong with him?"

"Positive. Now, please, go help Gears. We still have to find everyone that's been missing."

"We don't even know _who's_ missing!" Cliffjumper said.

"You still need to find everyone you can," First Aid replied. In that moment, he caught sight of something yellow from the corner of his optic and he looked up. Sunstreaker had just walked in with his brother, both of them covered in scrapes and dents.

"Great. We've walked into a mad-house," the yellow Lamborghini commented.

"I'm afraid yes," First Aid said. "And you're the lucky ones," he added, looking at his scanner. From the look of things, neither of the frontliners was too badly hurt.

"If you consider lucky seeing your brother trying to choke you to death," Sunstreaker muttered.

"I said I was sorry," Sideswipe said, looking guilty.

"I wasn't talking just about me," Sunstreaker said, his clenched fists indicating he was feeling just as guilty.

First Aid stifled a sigh. Apparently, the Hate Plague, as everyone had started calling it – and, really, could it have been any more apt? – had managed to mess with all of them in more ways than one.

"Poor choice of words," he said apologetically, and then nodded in the direction of the Autobots that were lying in the medical berths. "Some of them are still awake. Go talk to them, see if they can remember seeing any mech who hasn't been accounted for yet."

"Us?" Sideswipe asked, practically blinking. "But we don't know how…"

"Look around you, guys," First Aid replied, pointing to the chaos that was ensuing just a couple of feet away from them. "We're so deep in it that it's a miracle we haven't drowned ourselves yet; I don't think anyone will accuse you for lacking bedside manners. Now, come on, get to it."

That, and the fact that things must have really looked bad for First Aid to actually start channeling Ratchet, convinced the twins. They set down to work, while the young medic continued making his rounds.

"First Aid…"

The medic stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder as he heard the familiar voice. Trailbreaker was indeed online, though his energy resources were all but depleted.

"Hey," First Aid said, walking up to the berth and holding Trailbreaker's hand. "Try not to exert yourself. You were in pretty bad shape when they found you."

"We're cured…" the larger mech said quietly.

"Yeah. Yeah, we are," First Aid said, nodding his agreement. "Thank Primus for that, huh?"

Trailbreaker nodded too, though the motion was weak and strained. "Where's Bluestreak?"

Now that was a question that First Aid hadn't expected to hear. "I don't know," he answered. "Why? What's the matter?"

"You mean… It wasn't him?"

"Him? What do you mean?"

Trailbreaker parted his lip components to reply, but he never had the chance to speak. In that moment, everyone in the medbay picked the sound of commotion and someone shouting in a panicked manner.

"I need a medic!"

First Aid didn't waste any time; he hurried up to the door to meet the panicked mech and offer his assistance. In the next moment, the door hissed open to reveal Tracks, scratched and dented in more than just several places. Just when the young medic was about to ask what was the emergency, however, he noticed what Tracks was holding in his arms: an offline Bluestreak, covered in fluid and his chassis torn apart, cables and wires hanging out of their places like gruesome tendrils.

"Primus above," First Aid breathed out in horror. He could even see the mech's spark through the ruptured chest plate, and the pulsating light was weak – too weak. "Get him to the life-support system, _now_."

"Where is that?" Tracks asked.

"There, the berth by the machines!"

Tracks nodded his compliance, moving as fast as he could without jostling his charge. As soon as he had placed him on the berth, First Aid grabbed the cables and started attaching them in every energy port he could find which hadn't been burned to a melting point or ripped out.

"What happened to him? Do you know?" he asked, even as he still worked.

"No idea," Tracks said. "I just found him and…"

"Bluestreak?"

Tracks and First Aid turned to the direction of the voice, seeing a shocked Sideswipe.

"Who did this to him?" the frontliner asked, confusion and dismay interlacing his tone.

First Aid sighed and returned his focus on the offline mech; there was a life at stake, and he couldn't afford to remain idle.

"I asked you a question, doc!"

"Would you rather I save him or play the twenty questions game?!" the medic snapped without even bothering to look back at the frontliner; he was too busy typing orders on the main computer. However, he did catch sight of Sideswipe ready to snap back at him, except Tracks stopped him at the last minute. First Aid wasn't sure what the Corvette whispered to the Lamborghini – the two of them didn't always see each other optic to optic, after all. Still, whatever it was, it had the power to convince Sideswipe to stand down.

Good. Perhaps now he could concentrate properly. This was no time for mistakes—

A chilling buzzing sound and a blackout cut into his train of thought instantly. Worse, First Aid realized that this had happened the moment he had pressed enter in order to activate the life-support system.

"Slag!" he exclaimed, and he immediately activated his radiotransmitter. "Hot Spot, what's going on?"

"Somebody tried to drain too much power, that's what happened!" Hot Spot replied.  
"That somebody was _me_, and I need power to activate the life-support system!"

"No can't do! The generators are already operating at full-capacity!"  
"Why can't Metroplex himself add to the power?" First Aid asked. Surely the gigantic robot had enough power to light things even without the use of generators…

"He's deactivated," Hot Spot replied. "And before you say anything else, no, I can't bring him back online; Rodimus is the only one who has the codes!"

"Then _find_ him! I have a dying mech here… Damn it!" In that moment, First Aid saw that the spark grew dimmer. "Hurry!"

He didn't wait to hear for a reply. He deactivated the transmitter at once, his hands working fervently to override one crashing system after another, trying to somehow sustain the damage.

Yet the spark kept on waning, too weak to fight on its own after everything that happened…


	2. Overrun

_Three months earlier…_

_Everything was hazy and not making much sense. Even so, he somehow knew that he was surrounded by death and destruction. What he didn't know, though, was how or why he had ended up here. It wasn't right. Not unless he was…_

"_Blue…"_

_Bluestreak swirled around, facing the all-white femme. "Mother?"_

_Yes, he _was_ dreaming. There was no other reason she could be standing before him, seeming very much alive, albeit worried and filled with scrapes and burns._

"_No time," she said. "Do you hear that?"_

_Bluestreak frowned, nevertheless he caught himself turning up his audios. And, indeed, he heard cries and laserfire, coming closer and closer._

"_Mother…"_

"_No time," she said again. "Wake up. Wake up, Blue…"_

* * *

Bluestreak did, taking in his surroundings. He was back in his dorms, lying on his berth. And yet… something was very wrong even here, in the real world. The lights in the room kept blinking, as if there was too much power being drained. Worse, the cries and laserfire were still audible; that part hadn't been a dream.

Frowning, he stood up and walked up to his door. A part of him warned him that he shouldn't open the door, that there was danger outside and he would just get caught up in it. In the end, though, he decided to check things out. If there was a battle happening outside, he would probably be needed.

He pressed the code and the door opened, just as Powerglide zipped past it. Bluestreak blinked, for he could have sworn that the flier seemed… redder. Was Sideswipe up to his usual pranks, then? Even so, he doubted it was anything that simple, or even innocent for that matter. It was with that thought that he cautiously stepped forward, trying to get a glimpse of what was going on.

What he saw surpassed any surreal dream he had ever found himself in, and it touched memories from a past that he had tried to forget. Scorched marks and fluid decorated the walls, and mechs were locked in frenzied combat. Yet it wasn't Autobots fighting Decepticons, holding the line and defending themselves. They were all Autobots… and they were trying to murder one another.

A loud clang, too close for comfort, made him turn around, and the sight he witnessed sent a chill to his spark. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were locked in fierce combat, punching and tearing each other in a sickeningly brutal manner.

Bluestreak opened his mouth and even stepped forward out of habit – he always played the peacemaker between the two of them in the past. Reason, however, stopped him in the very last moment, telling him that, though it was natural for Sideswipe to be red, it was certainly not natural for Sunstreaker. Numbing confusion gripped his spark as he tried to comprehend what was happening and yet couldn't.

All thoughts of wonder came to a halt when the Twins caught sight of him, their fight momentarily forgotten.

"You," Sideswipe growled.

"Oh no," Sunstreaker said maliciously. "I'll have the pleasure."

It didn't take a great mind to guess that the Twins were about to do exactly what they had been doing between themselves just moments ago, so Bluestreak did the only logical thing under the circumstances: transform and drive away. The sound of transforming behind him told Bluestreak that the Twins had changed into their vehicle modes to give pursuit, but the former gunner didn't allow himself to think about it for long. He had to escape!

"You can run, but you can't hide, _Yellow_streak!" Sideswipe taunted.

Bluestreak simply took a left turn on full-throttle, hoping to dodge the Lamborghinis. However, he had to admit that Sideswipe had a point. He could only run for that long before exhausting himself and falling into their clutches. He needed a means of defense, and he needed it fast. And he knew just where to go and get it.

He gasped as he came face to face with a very angry, very _red_ Grapple, who instantly reached out to grab him. Reflex prevailing, Bluestreak actually sped up and drove right between the mech's legs, letting the Twins crash onto him instead. Aware that looking back now would be a bad idea, Bluestreak made a beeline for the weapons' room in the hopes of finding a gun there.

He reached the end of the corridor, and there was the entrance to the repository itself. Glad that no one was around, Bluestreak transformed and swiftly pressed the codes to open the door. The door swooshed open in an eerily orderly manner, considering the anarchy the City seemed to be in, and Bluestreak stepped inside. Once the door was locked – he didn't want any unpleasant surprises – he started going through all the rifles, cannons, guns and grenades to find the ones that would best suit him.

"Come on, come on," he muttered under his breath, and finally gripped a gun that seemed just right. "Yes!"

His relief was cut short when footsteps reached his audios, for he realised that he wasn't alone in the room. He snapped his head around, but he saw no one… at first. Then his optics caught motion on his left and, as he squinted to get a better look through the shelves, he noticed the red aura surrounding… Swallowing hard, Bluestreak stepped away from Jazz.

"Trapped like a little fly," the saboteur said, revealing himself. His gaze turned to the direction of the door for a brief moment, and then he looked back at Bluestreak. "You've locked the door. Smart 'bot. I'd rather have some privacy."

To say Bluestreak felt sick would have been an understatement. Nevertheless, he mustered his courage and held up his gun. "Stay away!"

"Oh, I'm scared now," Jazz said, stepping closer by the minute. "What are you going to do, kid? Shoot me? You don't have the bolts for it. You never did! You're nothing but a whining, cowardly excuse of a mech who depends on others to stay alive!"

"Stop it!" Bluestreak said, retreating even further, only to stop when his door panels touched the wall. "This isn't you, Jazz! Fight it!"

"Sorry, but I'd rather just do away with you now," Jazz said and lunged. But his attack was cut short as three shots rang throughout the room and he fell to the floor, fluid pouring from his chest plate.

"I'm sorry too," Bluestreak said softly, staring at the offline form. Still, even in his instinct to defend himself, he had made sure his aim had been true. None of the hits had been life-threatening and, provided the self-repair systems operated in Jazz's crazed condition, the saboteur would be up and about soon enough.

That, however, meant that he had to get out. He didn't want to go through with shooting Jazz again, for he was aware that next time he would have to shoot to kill. Stepping over the prone figure, he headed towards the door and started pressing the codes.

The loud banging sound made him jump back at once. The thick door practically shook under the weight of the rampaging mechs that tried to get in; they had obviously heard the shots. And Bluestreak could only stare helplessly, for there was no other way out, none that he could see. He was indeed trapped, just like a fly in the spider's web.

Still holding up his gun and keeping his optics on the door, he glued against the wall once more… then gasped as a pair of hands grabbed him and picked him up.

* * *

Sideswipe's pile drivers landed with full force on the door, finally crashing it down. Sunstreaker was the first to hurry inside, lip components curled into a triumphant smirk as it seemed their prey was in their hands at last.

"No way! He's mine!" the infected red Lamborhini said, following his twin closely behind.

Sunstreaker's answer came in the form of a blow that hit Sideswipe straight on the jaw. Just as Sideswipe landed on his skidplate, though, Grapple made sure Sunstreaker followed, giving him a backhanded slap.

"That was for running me over, you over-inflated son of a glitch!"

Sunstreaker sprang back on his feet, hardly bothering with the scrape on his face-plate. "You want to see what this son of a glitch can do to you?" he snarled.

"I'd like to see him try," Grapple sneered.

"I'll do more than try, you outdated piece of scrap!"

In the next moment, both of them were knocked down by two well-weighed kicks from Sideswipe, whom they had forgotten in the heat of their fight.

"Shut up!" he growled. "Didn't any of you slagheads notice anything?"

"I'll help you notice my fist, how's that?" Sunstreaker retorted.

"No, you idiot! Look around you!"

In their brief second of truce, Grapple and Sunstreaker did indeed check their surroundings, but there was nothing to see except for the offline Jazz on the floor.

"Exactly! He's gone!" Sideswipe said and transformed. "Now come on; he can't have gone far!"

The other two nodded and transformed as well, following Sideswipe out of the room. Such was their haste that none of them bothered to look up at the ventilation shaft or notice that its screws were being placed back in place from the _inside._

* * *

"Are they gone?" the hushed whisper asked.

Bluestreak watched in silence as Perceptor nodded slowly, almost cautiously.

"Then we had better get a move on," Red Alert said, and he started crawling down the crammed space.

"Indeed," Perceptor murmured, and he tapped Bluestreak on the shoulder. "Go ahead, Bluestreak. It would be inadvisable to squeeze myself by you anew."

Bluestreak complied numbly, crawling on his hands and knees the best he could. "Where are we going?"

"Keep your voice down," Red Alert hissed.

"Sorry…" Bluestreak whispered.

"And, to answer your question, we're getting out of the premises for starters," Perceptor said. "Thankfully, Red knows his way around."

"Makes you glad I memorised Metroplex's inward systems, doesn't it?" Red Alert whispered wryly.

"Yeah, but..." Bluestreak looked down the grate and couldn't help but wince as he saw Ultra Magnus, all red, searching for something. The large infected mech grabbed an armchair and threw it across the room in uncontrollable rage.

"Don't look," Perceptor said, gently prodding the silver mech to continue on. "You can't help him."

Bluestreak moved, but he still needed to understand. "What's happening to them?" he asked softly. "First the Twins, then Jazz... It doesn't make any sense!"

"We're not certain," Perceptor replied. "From the look of things, it appears to be some sort of virus, yet it's unlike any virus I have ever come across. It spreads with simple physical contact and, from then onwards, there's a rapid degeneration of high behavioural patterns that define the organics and Cybertronians' personalities. All that remains is aggressiveness and an urge to destroy everything and everyone."

"Just one touch?" Bluestreak echoed. "And they all just get crazy?"

"Yeah," Red Alert said. "I was 'lucky' to see it."

Bluestreak turned in the direction of the security chief. "You... were?"

Red sighed. "I saw Inferno getting infected," he explained. "As they tried to smash down our door, he pushed me up the ventilation shaft."

"But... the ventilation is too small for Inferno!" Bluestreak said, aghast.

"Yeah, it is," Red said.

Bluestreak felt his spark sinking. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. We have bigger problems," Red Alert said. He stopped as they reached a cross-section, and he checked the code that was etched on the walls of the corridor. "This way," he added, pointing to his right.

Bluestreak and Perceptor nodded and followed the security chief. Yet Bluestreak's curiosity was far from sated.

"What I don't get is how this started in the first place," he said. "Where did this virus come from?"

"I fear your guess is as good as mine," Perceptor said. "The only clue we have is that Rodimus and a select team had meant to recover Optimus Prime's body from the labs of a certain Dr. Morgan."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Bluestreak asked.

"Dr. Morgan's daughter, Jessica Morgan, had told Rodimus that her father and his assistant had been running tests concerning a cluster of microorganisms that their ship had been covered in. And, according to some CCTV footage that Red Alert managed to recover, the first Autobots to be infected were the very Autobots who followed Rodimus to the lab. I don't know how or why, but our course of action is more than just clear."

"What's that?" Bluestreak asked.

"Find out the answer to both questions."

"And stay in one piece while at it," Red Alert added; then nodded straight ahead. "I can see the exit."

Bluestreak looked in the direction Red had pointed and, indeed, he noticed the sunlight pouring through the grate, bathing the shaft and serving as a beacon for the three Autobots. Thankfully, it looked like an opening large enough for them to crawl out from. Bluestreak didn't like the idea to spend any more time in there, crawling very much like a rat that tried to abandon a sinking ship.

"Wait," Red said in that moment, holding up his hand so that both Bluestreak and Perceptor would come to a stop. "We should first check if it's safe."

"And if it's not?" Bluestreak asked nervously.

"Let's… not think that way," Perceptor said lamely. "Tell us when it's all clear, Red."

Red Alert nodded, and he crawled towards the grate. He kept his motions slow, barely making a sound, and his optics scanned for everything out of the ordinary. Bluestreak watched him with bated breath, counting the astroseconds as he waited for the most anticipated words.

"Clear."

Bluestreak and Perceptor nodded, crawling up to Red alert. The security chief unscrewed the lid and, after checking to his left and right once more, he jumped out. Perceptor was the next one to follow, and then it was the gunner's turn. As he stepped out, however, he noticed something eerie.

"It's so quiet now…" His voice came out in a murmur, as if he didn't want to break the spell of silence that surrounded them.

"I should say _too_ quiet," Red Alert noted.

"You mean… we're the only ones left?"

"It's hard to ascertain," Perceptor said calmly. "However, if we managed to escape, there's a good chance others have as well."

"Provided they didn't come across them!" Red Alert said in that moment. Four figures – Pipes, Hoist, Smokescreen and Tracks – had sprung out from around the corner, optics flashing red at the sight of the non-inflected Autobots.

"Thinking of getting away, are we?" Smokescreen growled, transforming.

Bluestreak gasped and held up his gun to fire at the charging mech. The sound of a blaster went off and Smokescreen left tyre blew, forcing him to swerve and hit the wall. Yet… it hadn't been Bluestreak who had fired. And neither Perceptor nor Red Alert had to do with the other three infected thrown to the wall either. In fact, it was as if an invisible force had grabbed them and tossed them aside to render them unconscious. But who…?

"Bluestreak! Guys! Over here!"

The three Autobots turned to the sound of the familiar voice, more than just glad to see Trailbreaker and Mirage, standing a little further away.

"Trailbreaker! Are others with you?" Perceptor asked.

"Sorry, Perceptor, we're all the backup you can get for now," the black mech said. "Now come on, we'd better get out of here before more decide to drop in."

None of them had to be told twice. Transforming into their vehicle modes, they drove away from the terror reigning in the city. There would be time to talk and plan later. For now, they had to stay alive.

_TBC…_


	3. Ground Zero

Bluestreak stepped out of the cave where the five Autobots had taken refuge and checked his surroundings. Nature didn't seem to have taken heed of the mayhem the former gunner himself had witnessed. In fact, it was dressed in vibrant colours of green as spring was at its end and the flower still thrived. If it weren't for Mirage sitting on a rock just a little further away, his gun in hand, Bluestreak would have actually believed that they had all gone out on a typical patrol.

Sadly, though, it was definitely not the case. Sighing at that awful truth, Bluestreak heaved a heavy sigh and took out of subspace his gun.

"Hi," he said softly, approaching the spy. "Is there room for one more?"

Mirage looked up, clearly startled out of his thoughts, but he soon relaxed and nodded to the spot next to him. "Go right ahead."

"Thanks." Bluestreak sat down, his optics looking in every direction. "Everything okay?"

"Looks like it so far," the former noble answered. "Let's just hope it stays that way."

Bluestreak couldn't agree more to that, even if he had the unsettling feeling that things had only just began. Still…

"Trailbreaker, Red Alert and Perceptor are trying to decide what we should do next. Maybe we'll be able to find a way to stop it," he said hopefully.

Mirage shrugged. "Maybe."

It didn't take a great mind to understand that Mirage didn't really believe it. Biting his lower lip component, Bluestreak decided to change the subject.

"Where were you when… it happened?"

Mirage looked away. "Patrolling with Hound. Then we heard on our transmitters that the city was getting evacuated because of an unleashed virus," he said quietly. "We hurried back, hoping we'd be able to help. We saw Superion towering over the buildings, firing at everything and everyone… I tried to tell Hound that we shouldn't go, that there was nothing we could do. He wouldn't have it; he drove onwards." He paused, a soft sigh escaped his lip components as the memories reflected in his mind's optic. "That was the last I saw of him. After that, I saw some humans coming towards me, infected, so I used my invisibility cloak to escape. I headed towards Metroplex, figuring that, maybe, I would be able to return with backup."

"And Trailbreaker?" Bluestreak said, though he already suspected what had happened.

"I found him outside, warning me that it was too late; that everything had already fallen apart," Mirage answered. "Still, he had his field on, so we were able to venture inside. We didn't not dare that we would find anyone else that hadn't been infected but, just when his force-field was about to fail, forcing us to go back, we saw you. And the rest, as they say, is history."

"Yeah…" Bluestreak said, lowering his gaze. "Well… I'm glad you found us."

Mirage smiled weakly. "Feeling's mutual."

Bluestreak mirrored Mirage's smile, relieved that the awkwardness was diminished considerably. The last thing he needed was to get nervous and start babbling.

Just then, familiar footsteps sounded from behind them, and both soldiers looked over their shoulders. Traibreaker was at the entrance of the cave, his expression serious - a far cry from his usual, cheerful self. Then again, that was to be expected under the circumstances…

"Come on, guys. You should be inside to hear this," he said, beckoning them.

"Hear what?" Mirage said, already standing up.

"What we are going to do about the situation," the large mech replied, then turned on his heel and walked back into the cave.

Bluestreak stood up as well and followed Mirage close behind. Even so, he couldn't help but feel nervous, still looking around. If there were any infected Bots nearby and discovered their hiding place, the five of them would be cornered.

"Everything all right?" Mirage asked in that moment, cutting into Bluestreak's train of thought; he had obviously noticed the former gunner's unease.

Bluestreak faced him at once, nodding in a calm manner. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Mirage didn't look that convinced, but he didn't have the chance to pry things further as Perceptor looked up and saw them coming in.

"Ah, good. We've all gathered here," he said, smiling weakly. "Please, have a seat."

"This isn't a social gathering over energon and oil-cakes, Perceptor," Red Alert said grimly. "And furthermore, I hardly see how safe it's to stay here. Our energy signatures are giving away our location even as we speak."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," Perceptor replied. "That is why I needed a place where I could perform the… uh… extraction procedure."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mirage asked with a frown, voicing everyone's curiosity.

"I fear Red Alert is right. Our energy signatures make it easy for the infected Autobots to track us down. In fact, I believe that that's how the virus has managed to spread among so many of us and so quickly. And that is why it is imperative we make ourselves invisible to scanners and probes."

"You're suggesting we should remove the transmitters," Trailbreaker said.

"I am, indeed," Perceptor said. "I wish I could do it in better facilities and with better equipment, but this will have to do."

"What sort of equipment?" Bluestreak asked.

Perceptor smiled weakly and took out of subspace a laser scalpel. "I hardly have medical hands, but I will try to be gentle."

"You realize that our energy signals are under our insignias?" Red Alert pointed out.

Bluestreak fumbled the insignia with a wince. It wasn't so much the matter of removing the insignia that made him – and everyone else – nervous at the prospect. The problem was that the insignias were placed over their sparks. It seemed like a bad choice now but, back then, it had seemed logical and… rather cool. Energy signatures emanated status reports about a mech's well-being, as well as his location, to others. On the other hand, they were all Autobots, and they took their duty to protect the galaxy from the Decepticons to spark; having the insignia on their chest was a symbol of that.

"Yes," Perceptor said. "But I fear we have no choice."

Red Alert pursed his lip components thoughtfully, but finally heaved a sigh. "No, unfortunately, we don't."

Perceptor nodded and held up the scalpel. "Who's going to be first?"

The four other Autobots exchanged a glance, hesitating. They understood the necessity of that precaution, but if Perceptor slipped the scalpel just a tiny bit further, he could hurt them… even kill them.

Trailbreaker was the first one to step forward, putting an end to the matter. "Start with me."

"Very well," Perceptor said softly. "Lie down then."

Traibreaker complied. The moment that Perceptor activated the scalpel, its bright light filling the room, Bluestreak looked away, unable to watch.

* * *

Perceptor sat up, his fingers gently tracing the gaping hole where the Autobot insignia had once been. He had been the last to be operated on, and Trailbreaker had been the one to operate the surgery. Though he technically had only one hand, he was still the one with the steadiest grip, so the scientist had trusted him with the task.

"How was that?" the officer asked, looking at Perceptor curiously.

Perceptor flexed his hands and legs, running a self-diagnosis scan, and then smiled weakly yet reassuringly. "Good work. What about you four? Any ill effects?"

The others shook their heads in response. Red Alert, however, had more to say about the matter.

"We shouldn't stay here any longer. The transmitters are still operational."

"Not if I have something to say about that," Mirage said, firing once at the small pile of transmitters. The five devices blew in pieces, shards scattering all over the ground.

Perceptor chuckled weakly at the sight. "I was going to suggest misplacing them and throw any potential pursuers off our scent; but I suppose this will have to do."

"Okay, so what now?" Bluestreak asked.

"We should disappear and quickly," Red said.

"And go where?" Mirage asked. "The Autobot City is overrun. So is with the human city. I wouldn't be surprised if the whole state has been infected the way this thing's been spreading."

"Or the country," Trailbreaker said. "So it's obvious what we should do."

"Indeed," Perceptor said softly.

"What's that?" Mirage asked.

"Try and find a cure," Trailbreaker replied.

Bluestreak, Red Alert and Mirage stared at the black mech incredulously.

"You… are you serious?" the gunner asked, barely able to utter the words.

"With all those infected on our back, and you and Perceptor want to take us back? Into the mecha-lion's den?" Mirage seconded.

"Yes," Trailbreaker said solemnly. "The way things turned out, we have to go on with the assumption that we're the only ones left sane enough to end this."

"Sane isn't the word I would have used," the spy said.

"Perhaps, but staying here till someone arrives and infects us isn't much of an option either," Perceptor said.

"But we don't even know where to start looking!" Bluestreak said.

"Well, we're not completely hopeless," Perceptor said. "We do know that the trouble started from Dr. Morgan's lab. If we could go there, we may uncover some further clues about the nature of the virus and perhaps reverse-engineer it in order to create an antidote."

"Do you think you can pull it off, Perceptor?" Trailbreaker asked.

"It's certainly worth the try," Perceptor answered.

"You're still saying we should go to the source of the problem," Mirage said. "We should try and warn Cybertron of the danger, at least."

"And do what? Expect them to send reinforcements?" Red Alert said. "They'd be more likely to get infected the moment they touch down."

"Besides, there's also the possibility that it's too late for Cybertron," Perceptor said.

Bluestreak wasn't sure what to make of that statement at first. Then, however, realization caught up with him. There were Autobots like Skyfire and Omega Supreme who could fly out in space. If they got infected, there was no stopping them from flying to Cybertron and infecting everyone else.

Wait a minute…

"What about Metroplex?" he asked, confused. "With that kind of logic, he should have been infected as well, shouldn't he?"

"That's true," Trailbreaker said thoughtfully.

"And I can tell you why he hasn't been," Red Alert said in that moment. "Metroplex wasn't operational at the time of the infection. Somebody got to him first and shut him down."

"Who?" Bluestreak asked.

"There's only one Autobot who has the codes for that sort of thing. The Prime," Red Alert answered

"That's impossible. Rodimus had gone to Dr. Morgan's lab," Perceptor said.

"Sounds like he managed to escape," Trailbreaker said.

"So he escaped but didn't bother warning anyone else about the danger?" Mirage said.

Perceptor held up his hands in a placating manner. "We don't know what he could or couldn't do. We will have to get that kind of answer from elsewhere."

"The lab," the Ligier said with a sigh. "Well, how do we go about this?"

"One thing's for sure, we're not separating," Trailbreaker said. "Mirage, you have your invisibility cloak. You can serve as scout and check the ground ahead. Red, you stay close to me and Perceptor; stay inside Bluestreak, he'll be carrying you. Bluestreak, you will be our tail; you can cover us if we get attacked."

"Will I be able to fight them all on my own?" Bluestreak asked. He didn't want to sound like a coward, but he couldn't help but worry.

"If the worst thing happens, I'll use my force-field," Trailbreaker said before addressing Perceptor. "Perceptor, do you know the way to Dr. Morgan's lab?"

"Yes," Perceptor replied.

"Then take us there. We've dilly-dallied long enough," Trailbreaker said in a commanding tone. "Autobots, transform."

The command sounded strange, considering that it came from a different mech than the Prime himself. However, Bluestreak supposed that Trailbreaker took up his position as an actual officer more seriously because… well… there was no one else left. Not that Bluestreak minded. If anything, the gunner felt that there was a semblance of order in following commands. He could focus on what he was told to do rather than trying to decide and wonder constantly if said decision was right or wrong.

But he strayed. Keeping his scanners on for anything out of the ordinary, he transformed and allowed Perceptor inside in his microscope mode before following the rest of his companions.

* * *

Their venture had been uneventful, which was a small blessing under the circumstances. The main roads were too risky to traverse – someone could easily spot them – so they had to drive through dark back alleys that were more often than not uncomfortably narrow. Worse, they had to stop and silence their engines whenever they detected any motion or sound, hoping that it would be enough to make themselves inconspicuous. And during the whole nerve-wracking march, Bluestreak could still catch a glimpse of the catastrophe that was left behind in the outbreak's wake. Cars filled the streets, abandoned; windows were broken, and glass had filled the sidewalks, along with sheets of paper and rubbish. Yet there was something that Bluestreak didn't seem to spot, no matter how hard he looked for it.

- Where's everybody? – he asked at the secret frequency.

- Would you rather they were here? – Mirage asked wryly, yet with no real indignation in his voice.

- They could be hiding, - Red Alert mused.

- Perhaps. There's also a good chance that they've evacuated the premises, either wishing to escape or driven by their urge to infect others, - Perceptor said.

- So they just left? All of them? – Bluestreak said.

- I don't sense anyone around, so yeah, it sounds like that's the case, - Trailbreaker said. - So… any idea where's that lab, Perceptor? –

- Indeed, yes. 12 o' clock sharp, actually. –

Everyone directed their scanners to where Perceptor indicated. Yet Bluestreak couldn't help but wince.

- It looks as if the Dinobots stampeded all over it! – he said.

- Yes, I feared as much, - Perceptor sighed. – Since everything started from here, it's logical that it has taken the most damage as well. –

- Do you really think we'll be able to find anything in this mess? – Trailbreaker asked.

- I know what _I_ found, - Mirage said in that very moment. – It looks like a human, and they're inside. –

- Oh, dear… That might complicate matters, - Perceptor said.

- Might? – Red Alert said, transforming before anyone could stop him. He glued himself against the remains of the crumbled wall, removing his gun from subspace.

Trailbreaker transformed as well, standing next to Red and grabbing the arm that held the gun. – It might not come to that. –

- Is it a chance you're willing to take? – Red Alert asked, optics narrowing.

- Yes, - Trailbreaker said. With that, he turned to Mirage, who was still in his car mode. – Mirage, you know what to do. –

- Sure thing, - Mirage said and turned on his invisibility cloak. Bluestreak heard the delicate sound of transforming, and then Mirage's footsteps become softer by the minute as the spy ventured inside. Tense silence reigned within the team as they waited for news, hoping for the best.

- I've found the human, - Mirage's voice sounded after what seemed like an eternity. – He's in the main room, right in the heart of the building. –

- Any motion from his end? – Trailbreaker asked.

- Nothing as of yet. –

- How safe is it? – Red Alert asked then.

- The door is barred from my side. I don't know how dangerous he is, but he's not going anywhere. –

- But I'm afraid _we_ might have to, - Perceptor said. – Unless my readings are sorely erroneous, the human is situated in the main lab facilities. If there are any files or other clues to be found in order to solve our dilemma, they're in there. –

- You sure about that, Perceptor? – Trailbreaker asked.

- If I say I wish I weren't, will it be comforting? –

- Not really, - the black mech sighed. – Looks like we're going in then. Autobots, transform. –

- Perceptor and I were the only ones left anyway, - Blustreak pointed out, even as he opened the door so that the scientist could remove himself from the driver's seat and change back into his robot mode. Once the gunner transformed, Trailbreaker signalled everyone to stay behind him. If there were any kind of unpleasant surprises, his force-field should be able to take care of them.

Yet, even as all four companions moved on, they caught sight of the terror that had been unleashed just hours ago. Walls had been crumbled to dust, as if a great weight had smashed through them, and scorch-marks riddled every corridor and room they passed by… even mech fluid.

- You okay, Bluestreak? – Red Alert asked, looking at the gunner closely.

- Yeah, I think so… - Bluestreak replied. Though, truth be told, he had been better. The whole sight was too much like the state in which his city had been left. The whole state in which Cybertron had been left, in fact…

- Mirage, stand back, - Trailbreaker said then, cutting into their discussion. They had reached the debris that blocked the way, and now it was high time the problem was dealt with.

Mirage complied and retreated a few steps, giving the black mech the space he needed. Trailbreaker pursed his lips in thought, judging the power he should use, and then he stretched both arms forward. The debris moved aside almost instantly, seeming to come alive under Trailbreaker's command, only for the mech to place them gently. The last thing the five companions wanted was to cause a racket that would draw unwelcome attention.

- Bluestreak. -

The former gunner understood and pulled the door open, gun in hand. When he looked inside to assess the situation, however, he didn't see a red human in wrathful rampage. He saw an old, wretched creature, sitting in the centre of the room like a monarch watching over his desolate kingdom. And the only thing that he did when he noticed motion from the doorway was growl softly.

"So… not all of you got caught in my surprise. Pity."

Bluestreak wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. The human's words, gaze and whole aura – for lack of a better word – felt more than just a little threatening and, in truth, it unnerved him.

"Everything all right, Bluestreak?" Trailbreaker asked in that very moment.

"Well, uh…"

Trailbreaker walked past him and looked inside the room.

"Hey, what do you know! I thought all the humans had ended up infected," he exclaimed in surprise.

The man directed his gaze to Trailbreaker piercingly. "More of you? That's impossible!"

"Excuse me, coming through," Perceptor said. As he stepped inside and stood next to Trailbreaker, his optics widened, recognition flashing through them. "I know you… You're Dr. Morgan. Young Jessica's father."

"That thing isn't my daughter any more!" the man said vehemently, a fist landing soundly at the arm of the chair. "She chose to help the very same monsters that created her!"

Perceptor certainly didn't expect that kind of outburst. "Dr. Morgan, I assure you that Jessica is perfectly fine. The exoskeleton we built-"

"—Was a pathetic excuse to try and make amends!" the human snarled. "My darling girl that used to climb on my shoulders now walks with steel bearings and the sound of clanking following her. And you expected me to be grateful?! No!" Teeth gritted, almost chattering in the suppressed rage that consumed him. "Ever since you came here, you've done nothing more than drag humanity in your foolish war, destroying everything that you touch!"

"He's totally lost it," Red Alert murmured with a shake of his head. "I suggest we take what we came for and go."

"You may have a point there," Perceptor said with a sigh, and he headed towards the computer. Opening his forearm, he drew out a small cable and connected himself to the mainframe.

"What are you hoping to find? A cure?" Dr. Morgan scoffed. "There isn't one; I made sure of that."

"What are you talking about?" Mirage asked, regarding the human closely. If that meant to intimidate Dr. Morgan, it didn't work. He simply returned the look, unfazed.

"I mean I made sure you would never bother us again," he said. "The world will be better off without you."

Only then did it click on all five Autobots, the realization ending a chill to their spark.

"You ungrateful piece of trash…"

Bluestreak faced Mirage, for it was the Ligier who had said that. "Mirage…"

Mirage, however, wouldn't have it. His optics flashed ablaze as he reached out and grabbed Dr. Morgan by the front of his lab coat.

"Are you saying that we're now running for our lives because of _you_?!"

"Tell me one good reason I shouldn't. What good have you done in this world?" Dr. Morgan demanded.

"What about protecting your sorry afts from the _real_ threat? You think _you_ had it rough? My best friend could have saved himself but he didn't; he considered you _important_. And the list doesn't end here, not by a long shot. Friends, families, loved ones… we all lost them. We even lost our leader; dead because he hoped there could be peace and other species, namely _yours_, didn't end up having the same fate!" Mirage growled. "Do you think your daughter would have actually lived without our help?"

"You just turned her into a machine, like you!"

"The girl you call machine loved you and called you father, which is more than you deserve!" The sound of the gun cocking filled the air and Mirage held up his gun, ready to shoot the human. "How much better will the world be without _you_?"

Trailbreaker, however, placed a hand over Mirage's stopping him. "No."

The Ligier looked up at the black mech, staring at him incredulously. "Why not?" he demanded.

"Because you'll only prove him right," Trailbreaker replied softly. "Let him go, Mirage."

Mirage didn't comply, not at once anyway; he was clearly torn. In the end, though, he loosened his grip, dropping the human as if he were something disgusting.

"Let's just go," he muttered.

Bluestreak patted his shoulder in reassurance, yet the Ligier didn't acknowledge the gesture. He simply stared out the door, waiting till Perceptor was done with downloading his data.

They didn't have to wait long. As a message flashed on the screen, indicating that he was done, Perceptor removed the cable and inserted it back in his forearm. He didn't say anything, nor he did he have to. He simply nodded in Trailbreaker's direction, a gesture that was mirrored by the black mech.

"Okay. Autobots, let's leave. We've stayed here long enough," he said.

Red Alert, Perceptor and Mirage were the first ones to walk out, the tension too stifling for them. But, apparently, Dr. Morgan had more to say as he looked up at the two remaining mechs, his expression a mix of hatred and… nervousness?

"What are you going to do with me?"

"The only thing that you deserve," Trailbreaker replied, his tone cold. "You're to remain here, safe from the other infected, your mind intact… so you can think about what you've done."

"Think?" Dr. Morgan echoed before snorting. "There is nothing to think about!"

"No?" Trailbreaker said, lowering himself to the human's level. "You say you unleashed the virus to rid humanity of the monsters that threatened it. Congratulations, you did it. But while you gloat, ask yourself this: What happened to the humanity in whose name you acted?"

Dr. Morgan frowned, the words puzzling him. But then, Bluestreak saw the look in the hateful eyes changing. It widened, the anger and indignation disappearing. The lips released their tightness as the jaw slackened and signified other emotions coursing through the human's heart: realization and shock.

"You're lying," he whispered, grasping at the last shred of denial.

"I think we both know I'm not," Trailbreaker replied and stood up once more. "Goodbye, Dr. Morgan."

With that, the large mech walked out, and all that was left for Bluestreak to do was follow him. Still, curiosity turned out to be a very powerful thing, and the gunner couldn't help but look over his shoulder. And though the sight of the human falling on his knees and hiding his face in his hands was indeed a sad one… Bluestreak couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for him – only feel sorry for the innocent lives that had paid the price because of one man's selfishness.

* * *

Bluestreak still drove on, his scanners on at all times. Silence reigned amidst the team, seeming like they were maintaining radio silence, but the former gunner could tell that there was more to the situation. Dr. Morgan's words had shaken them all. Though that was understandable, Bluestreak didn't like the silence. Silence meant thinking and, right now, the last thing he wanted to do was think. It only brought unpleasant thoughts that made him feel worse than he already was.

- Perceptor? -

- Yes, Bluestreak? – the scientist asked, perched on the driver's seat.

- Will you be able to fix a cure with the data you have? –

- Yes, I believe I will. –

- But Dr. Morgan said that there's no cure. –

- That doesn't mean that one can't be created, - Perceptor said reassuringly. – It will simply take up more time. –

- Which brings us to the question _I _had in mind, - Trailbreaker said then, overhearing the conversation. – With what sort of equipment will you be able to develop the cure when there's no lab we can go to? –

- There's one lab. –

- Don't even think about it, - Red Alert said firmly. – The Autobot City is crawling with infected Autobots. –

- There's also the possibility it has been abandoned, just like Portland has, - Perceptor pointed out.

- Are you willing to risk that? – the security chief asked.

- Yes. My lab within the Autobot City is our best option if I'm to find some kind of cure. –

- But… won't you need someone to test it on? – Bluestreak asked. He didn't know much about science, but he had managed to pick up that detail.

- Yes, I will, - Perceptor admitted. – Which means we have to catch an infected Autobot and- -

- Incoming! – Red Alert shouted in that very moment. And though none of the other Autobots saw anything at first, they quickly found out what was it that had set off Red Alert's more sensitive detectors: a flock of crows, flying at great speed and their dissonant caws filling the evening air. And every single bird was red.

"Take cover!" Trailbreaker cried, swerving to head toward a bridge that was to their right. The four other Autobots followed him without a second thought, hoping to outmaneuver the danger.

The crows, however, would not be deterred so easily. Moving as a single, terrifying unit, they dived downwards and gave chase, aiming for the Autobot that was at the end of the line.

"Bluestreak!" Trailbreaker cried. Before the crows could reach the former gunner, the black mech's force field pushed them back violently. The crows cawed in indignation, but they didn't try anything again. They just flew away, as quickly as they had appeared.

"Thanks," Bluestreak said, relieved.

"I agree," Perceptor said from the Datsun's driver's seat.

"You're welcome," Trailbreaker said before addressing Mirage and Red Alert. "You two okay?"

"I think so," Mirage said.

The revving of engines was the only warning they had as Red Alert charged at them. Gasping, Mirage reversed at the last moment, before the security chief crashed onto him.

"Primus!"

But no… Primus had nothing to do with it… Even in Red Alert's tainted state, Bluestreak saw the unmistakable crimson stain of blood on the windshield. And, just a few feet away, lay broken the bird that in its rage lost its own life.

"Don't think you'll get away that easily!" Red's voice sounded, harsh and cruel. Swerving, he transformed and took out of subspace his gun.

A violent shove of Trailbreaker's forcefield sent him flying to the bridge. The structure shook at the force of the impact, but it wasn't enough to stop Red. He merely got back on his feet, shaking off the dizzy feeling and staggering on even as Mirage transformed and started shooting him, emptying one round after the other.

"Bluestreak, discard me!" Perceptor cried.

"Are you crazy?! With Red like that?!" Bluestreak exclaimed.

"Trust me!"

"But-"

"Bluestreak, do what he says," Trailbreaker said, using his force field again.

The gunner still didn't like what he was hearing but orders were orders. While Trailbreaker and Mirage kept Red at a distance, Bluestreak opened the door, giving Perceptor the chance to change into his cannon mode. A well-placed blast later, the infected security chief finally fell, offline. The four Autobots stared at the unconscious form for many long moments, scarcely believing what had just happened and yet the truth verily lying before them.

Trailbreaker was the first to break the silence, his expression one of sorrow and regret.

"I should have used my force-field sooner."

"I disagree. It would only drain you and we don't have any sources of energy at our disposal," Perceptor pointed out softly. "And… perhaps it was for the best."

"What?" Mirage exclaimed. "I hope you're kidding!"

Perceptor, however, was serious. "If we're to find a cure, we need to experiment."

"So you're planning on experimenting on Red?" Mirage said. "How will you do that without touching him?"

"Provided we _can_ carry him all the way to the City without being noticed," Bluestreak said softly.

"Maybe we won't have to," Trailbreaker said in that moment. "If the crows got infected, then other small animals must have gotten the hate plague, too. We catch some of them in containers and we start working on them."

"Hmm… Sounds solid, but, if we're only to work on organic life, we need to take under consideration that the antidote we manage to create might only affect organics as well. We still need a Cybertronian to make sure the cure helps everyone."

The four Autobots fell silent, contemplating the situation. And, almost like a flash, a name crossed Bluestreak's mind and he opened his mouth to speak… only to close it again. It was probably a bad idea.

Too late.

"What did you want to say, Bluestreak?" Trailbreaker asked.

Bluestreak shifted on his legs nervously. "It's nothing."

"Let me be the judge of that," the black mech said reassuringly. "Come on. What's on your mind?"

The former gunner realized now that he had no choice but to voice his thoughts; everyone was looking at him expectantly.

"Well… there's always Blaster's Casettobots," he murmured self-consciously, bracing himself the scoffs and snorts that he was bound to hear.

What he didn't expect was Perceptor nod thoughtfully and say, "It will definitely do."

"R-Really?!" Bluestreak exclaimed before he could help it.

"Yes," the scientist said, smiling. "It will be easier to remove the energy transmitters without the risk of touching them and, of course, they are easier to keep confined."

Mirage's optics darkened, though. "These are mechs that we know by name. How can we just forget that and talk about them as if they're lab-rats?"

Trailbreaker placed a hand on the Ligier's shoulder. "None of us like it any more than you do, Mirage. But we need that cure."

"Even if it means essentially torturing fellow Autobots?"

Trailbreaker smiling weakly. "Even then. Because if we don't, then there's no hope left for us."

Bluestreak swallowed hard, the thought more than just a little unnerving. It was almost like those post-apocalyptic movies that he and the Twins used to watch. There was the setting of the desolate, unwelcoming world, ruled by monsters or zombies driven by one animalistic instinct. Except this was no movie. This was reality, and they were all cruelly trapped in it, working on every possible solution in order to survive.

"How can we make it work?" he asked softly.

"The lab in the City should have all the necessary equipment and, hopefully, it will still be intact," Perceptor replied. "But, for now, I believe our first priority of business is to make ourselves scarce before we receive another unwelcome surprise." With that, he pointed in Red Alert's direction.

"Right," Trailbreaker said, nodding in understanding. "Autobots, let's roll."

Mirage and Perceptor complied. Bluestreak, on the other hand, hesitated, even as he transformed in his automobile form.

"We'll just… leave him here?"

"The other option is to try and carry him over to the City, yet we've already decided against it," Perceptor said, settling on the Datsun's driver's seat. "Hopefully, the self-repair systems will kick in and he won't come to further harm."

"I hope you're right," Bluestreak sighed, nevertheless he started his engines and followed Trailbreaker and Mirage towards the Autobot City. Even as he drove on, however, he couldn't help but wonder in what state the place was now… and if he really wanted to find out.

* * *

By the time they approached the Autobot City, the sun had set and only the sickly colours of twilight remained in the horizon. Bluestreak could see the outlines of the structures, black against a background of auburn, ominous and threatening, for there were no lights on anymore. The whole place had been bathed in darkness, lifeless and cold, very much like a ghost town.

- Do you think anyone is in there? – Bluestreak asked, shuddering inwardly.

- That's not a chance we're going to take, - Trailbreaker said. – Turn off the headlights; there's a chance someone might see. –

Mirage and Bluestreak complied at once and, moments later, blackness surrounded the team.

- I think Gears' infra-red vision would be useful right about now, - the Ligier said wryly.

- Can't do anything about that now, - Trailbreaker answered. – Mirage, scout on ahead and see if we can get the all-clear. –

- Gotcha. Be back in a jiffy, - the spy said, disappearing. The only thing that the other Autobots picked up with their audios was the soft purr of Mirage's engine before it, ebbed away too, replaced by the silence of tense wait once more.

- Are we doing the right thing, guys? – Bluestrak asked, obeying the urge that told him that he should talk; to put his mind off the situation they're in.

- Yeah, we are, - Trailbreaker said. – Why? –

If Bluestreak had been in his alternate mode, he would have bitten his lower lip-component. – I just… never thought that any of us could become so… -

- Callous? – Perceptor provided helpfully.

- ... That would be one way of putting it, yeah, - Bluestreak admitted.

- Make no mistake, kid; we're still Autobots in this mess, - Trailbreaker said, a weak smile audible in his voice. – It's just that, sometimes, kindness won't cut it. You know what I'm saying? –

- I guess, - the former gunner answered, seeing the other mech's point.

Another pause of silence followed, growing heavy on Bluestreak's psyche.

- I've never seen Mirage so angry before either, - he said, breaking the spell once more.

- He's frustrated, and with good reason, - Trailbreaker said. – We all have our moments. –

- Moments of what? – Bluestreak asked, not really understanding.

- Moments when we're pushed to our limits emotionally, - Perceptor replied softly. – And when that happens, things… change. –

- Change? – Bluestreak echoed, concerned.

- Dr. Morgan didn't do this out of spite, - Perceptor explained. – Not in his eyes anyway. He went through a rough place because of his daughter's condition. –

- Did that give him the right to do this? – Bluestreak exclaimed.

- We're not saying that, - Trailbreaker said. – We're saying that we understand where his anger is coming from. From that point on, however, he had two choices: he could either be there for his daughter or take matters in his hands and punish those he blamed for his daughter's paralysis. He made the wrong choice. –

- Are you saying Mirage had his own choice to make too? –

- We all did, - Trailbreaker said. – We had the option to find a way to make things right again or kill the very one responsible for this whole mess in the first place. –

- So… we went for the first option. –

- Exactly, - Perceptor said. – In a way, pushing aside your anger and giving into wisdom is a cure of its own. –

- Except you can't really inject wisdom to the infected, - Trailbreaker said wryly.

Just then, the sound of Mirage's engine sounded and, a few minutes later, the very mech himself appeared.

- All clear. We should try and get in now, - he said.

- Then that's exactly what we're gonna do, - Trailbreaker said. – Let's go. –

With that, the sole survivors of the catastrophe moved on, the stars the only witness to the silent convoy heading towards the City.

TBC...


	4. Lab Rats

A/n: There are some spoilers for the book I Am Legend, so consider yourselves warned.

* * *

It had been a long night for the four Autobots. For even though they hadn't come across any of the infected, there was still a chance they would be discovered and they had to be ready. Trailbreaker knew just the thing – he hadn't been appointed Defence Tactician for nothing. So, as the black mech gave his instructions, pointing out all the weak spots in the current position, Bluestreak, Mirage and Perceptor made sure that they weren't completely defenceless. Generators were activated, so that the lab's computers operated once more. Shutters were placed at the windows so that no one could see the lights on during the night. The cameras monitored everything on the corridors at all times. And, of course, should the worst happen, defensive turrets would slow the infected down so that they would make their escape.

"Gotta say: we did good work," Trailbreaker commented, looking quite pleased with the new arrangements.

"Agreed," Perceptor said with a weak smile. "It's almost like home again."

"You've always considered the lab your home, Perceptor," Trailbreaker said with a mild tease.

"Except the lab didn't have these," Mirage said and pointed at two large cages with his thumb, as well as the amounts of energon and ammunition in two corners of the room that were enough to last a few months.

Bluestreak wrung his hands thoughtfully. "I guess we now have to look for Blaster and the Cassettobots, right?"

"Locating them is simplicity itself. I simply have to track down their energy signals via the computer," Perceptor said. "However, there's something that we need to discuss first."

"And that is?" Trailbreaker asked, regarding the scientist curiously.

"I've been thinking about it ever since Red Alert got infected," Perceptor said, audibly hesitating. "After what has transpired, I'm in the unpleasant to acknowledge that… I could be next. And… should that happen there will be no one left to work on the cure."

Bluestreak felt appalled. "Don't say that!" he exclaimed. "We'll protect you, won't we, guys?"

Trailbreaker and Mirage nodded but, to Bluestreak's sad realisation, the look on their face-plates was enough indication they weren't as convicted as Bluestreak himself was. The young gunner bit his lower lip component and then looked back at Perceptor. The scientist's grim expression said everything, too.

"I fear that things are not that simple," he said. "We are four Autobots amid a hundred and fifty infected Cybertronians, as well as hundreds of humans who are out there infecting thousands of them, who, in turn, will infect tens of thousands by the end of the week. No matter what precautions we take and how carefully we tread, the odds are against us. Sooner or later, we will also fall victim to the infection. Unless…" Perceptor stopped for a brief moment, weighing his next words, "… we manage to gain time."

The other three Autobots exchanged a look before facing Perceptor again.

"What exactly are you suggesting?" Trailbreaker asked.

"I'm suggesting passing my memory and knowledge databanks to all three of you."

"Wait a second," Mirage said in that moment, taken aback. "Why would you want to do that?"

Perceptor sighed. "As I said, if I get infected, any hope for finding a cure will be lost. But, if _you _know what to do even after my demise…"

"We'll be able to continue your research," Trailbreaker completed. "But won't that affect our initial basic programming?"

"There is a chance that some software will clash with the one I'll install in you, admittedly," Perceptor said. "That is why I will keep the programming as simple as possible."

"But we still won't have your experience and wisdom to put the programming in good use," Bluestreak pointed out.

"I didn't have it at first either," Perceptor pointed out, smiling weakly. "I will train you."

"You'd better stick around for a long time then," Mirage said wryly. "Should I remind you what happened every time a new mech was recruited and had to be trained?"

Though Bluestreak couldn't speak for Perceptor, he himself could say that he remembered only too well; he had been one of those new recruits. A mech who hadn't seen a gun before in his life, let alone shoot, and who had to learn how to do just that without hesitation in order to survive. As Prowl had told him, in a time that seemed so far away now, _'You'll want to show mercy and rightly so, because you respect life. But are you sure that a Decepticon will want the same thing?'_

"Let's hope we'll be given that chance," Perceptor said softly. "I've set up the computer in order to make the transfer, so we can proceed immediately."

"How many times have you done that?" Trailbreaker asked cautiously.

"Including this one?" Perceptor said.

"Yes."

"…Once."

"So how do we know it's safe?" Mirage asked.

"Grimlock had managed to do that when he first created the Technobots," Perceptor said. "I'll simply follow the same procedure."

"…Didn't Grimlock return to his good old… uh… _stupid_ self after the transfer?" Bluestreak asked.

Perceptor chuckled weakly. "Well, I'll just make sure my IQ score doesn't drop then," he said, and then motioned with his hand in the direction of the surgical table. "Now, if you please."

The others supposed that backing out now wouldn't help, so they mentally braced themselves and stepped forward.

* * *

Bluestreak had heard that, to understand another mech, you'd have to learn to see the world through their eyes. Yet Bluestreak had never believed that he would experience that so literally. When he looked at his hand, he no longer looked at just a palm and metal digits, but also the cables and steel bearings that kept everything together. He was aware of the material the metal was made – Cybertronium, steel, and a dozen more different alloys; he could tell the energy signals that were sent from his processor to his arm in order to will it in motion; he knew… so _much_. It was like a different door had opened up for him, behind which he discovered the deeper meaning of things that, until then, he had merely accepted as part of his world.

"Are you well, Bluestreak?" Perceptor asked.

"Indeed," Bluestreak said softly. "I was simply contemplating." He frowned inwardly as he registered the change in his vocabulary.

"Contemplating what?" Perceptor prodded gently.

"Did you ever regard us as… _simple?_" Traibreaker asked then, voicing the thoughts of both Bluestreak and Mirage.

Perceptor smiled gently. "We are what we're programmed to be. For all my intelligence, I could never be a match to Bluestreak and Mirage's marksmanship, and I certainly wouldn't have been able to analyse tactics the way you do, Trailbreaker. I've never looked down on you. How could I, when you were able to do things I could not?"

"But now, in theory, we should have the mental capacity to assist you in your research?" Mirage asked.

"Not just in theory; and you will even be able to continue said research should anything happen to me."

"To do that, however, we need to organise ourselves," Trailbreaker said, walking up to the main computer. "It's high time we located our first guinea pigs."

"Agreed," Perceptor said. "Note that Blaster and the Cassettobots share similar energy signals-"

"Which means by locating one, we locate all others," Trailbreaker said.

"Who shouldn't be too far, considering their bond," Mirage completed.

"…That's right," Perceptor said, smiling broadly.

Bluestreak, on the other hand, faced Mirage. "Am I only the only thinking that a quartet of Perceptor-thinking Autobots within the same premises is a tad… strange?"

"I'll answer with a very simple, yet effective, 'No'," the Ligier replied.

"Aptly put," Bluestreak said before wincing. "Perceptor, this is too distracting and awkward. Is it possible we can reverse the process once the crisis has been handled?"

"I believe it is mandatory," Perceptor said. "I do not think any of the others would be able to handle it otherwise."

"Indeed," Mirage said, smiling weakly.

"Oh no…"

Mirage, Bluestreak and Perceptor looked at Trailbreaker. The black mech had fixed his optics on the computer screen, his expression changing gradually from one of surprise to one of grimness.

"What is it?" Perceptor asked.

"I found Blaster and Steeljaw," Trailbreaker replied, pointing at the screen.

Bluestreak looked up along with Perceptor and Mirage, seeing two single dots in a sea of grey. Yet what had caught the gunner's attention was that the two dots were white and intermittent rather than blue and constant.

"What…?"

He got his answer when Trailbreaker typed a new order on the keyboard. The monitor flashed, reporting the two Autobots' status.

_TERMINATED._

"Primus," Bluestreak whispered.

Mirage's hands clenched into fists, his lip components tightening. Only Perceptor had enough courage to ask that lingered in their minds.

"Are there others?"

"I'll have to run a scan on everyone," Trailbreaker said.

"I suppose who should focus on those on Earth for now," Perceptor said softly.

Trailbreaker nodded, and he typed the instructions on the keyboard. The monitor sprang to life, the black screen filling with names – a list of all the Autobots serving on Earth. For some moments, there was nothing. But then, to their horror, four more names stood out and their new statuses appeared on screen.

_AUTOBOT KUP: TERMINATED_

_AUTOBOT BLURR: TERMINATED_

_AUTOBOT WHEELIE: TERMINATED_

_AUTOBOT BUMBLEBEE: TERMINATED_

Bluestreak looked away, unable to stand it anymore.

"That's all of them," Trailbreaker finally said, his voice quiet and slightly hoarse.

"It's still six Autobots too many," Mirage pointed out.

"One more reason to find that cure," Perceptor said, and he pressed another key. "I'll see if I can locate Rewind, Ramhorn and Eject."

"Shouldn't they be close to Blaster and Steeljaw?" Bluestreak asked softly.

"It would have been the most logical deduction, yes, but not necessarily the case," Perceptor said, still typing. Just then, three more dots appeared on screen, only this time they were blue. "And there we have it."

"This looks like the centre of the city," Trailbreaker commented as he matched the dots with the map the computer showed.

"It is," Perceptor said.

"Pardon me for saying this, but this will make their capture more challenging," Mirage commented wryly.

"I believe that is where all those viewing of National Geographic Specials will come in handy."

Everyone stared at Perceptor, hoping that he hadn't suggested what they thought he had suggested.

* * *

- He actually suggested it, - Bluestreak said with a sigh. He was lying amid a pile of cars that they had long been crashed and abandoned in the chaos of the outbreak, offering him good camouflage against any unpleasant surprises that were bound to appear in the area. Surprises that, unfortunately, both he and Mirage were on the lookout for under Perceptor's instructions.

- Indeed, he did, - the Ligier said in a wry tone. The spy was invisible, but he was by no means out in the open. He had taken refuge inside a large mall, aiming his gun through a broken window and keeping his back against a wall. They would have both preferred if they were somewhere higher, but, since Portland was a human city and not designed to see to the needs of giant Cybertronians, they didn't have much of a choice.

- So now what? – Bluestreak asked. – I doubt they will come back here in their infected frenzy. -

- Would you rather we started from the sewers, looking for rats? We do have to look for those too, if you recall. –

- Don't remind me, - the younger gunner said. There was silence for several moments, silence that grew heavy on Bluestreak. – Please tell me we're doing the right thing. I know we have to find the cure, don't get me wrong, but you made a good point, those were, no, _are,_ our friends and- -

- Shh, easy, Bluestreak, - Mirage's voice sounded calm and reassuring… almost like Prowl's.

- I apologise, - Bluestreak murmured. – Blame it on my nervousness. –

- I understand, - Mirage said gently, something that took the gunner by surprise. Not that Mirage ever treated him with anything less than courtesy, mind you. But, after the stress they'd been through, Bluestreak had half-expected the spy to snap again.

- Have you ever heard of 'I Am Legend'?-

Bluestreak blinked out of his thoughts at the seemingly odd question. – I've seen the film. –

- The film was good, - Mirage consented. – But it was missing an important element in the story. Something that was in the book itself. –

- What was it? – Bluestreak asked, curious.

- Neville had dedicated his life to cure not mindless zombies, but vampires. Sentient creatures who wanted to rebuild society. The creatures regarded themselves as the next step of evolution, and they wished to adapt to that new notion. –

Bluestreak caught himself frowning. – He still tried to cure them in the book, didn't he? –

- He tried… and failed, - Mirage said. – They found him and executed him as an anathema and black terror that had to be destroyed. –

- But… that was because they were sick! – Bluestreak said.

- They didn't regard themselves as sick. They simply thought of him as a ghost that terrorised them and was better off dead. –

Bluestreak swallowed hard, realising what the spy was telling him. – Does that mean we should give up? – he whispered.

- No, - Mirage said softly. – I'm just saying that, whether we succeed or not, we'll have to live with the consequences of our actions. Even if it means with the brand of monster on our foreheads. –

Bluestreak fell silent, the words sinking in. And then, out of the blue, he noticed something strange.

- Mirage, do you hear anything? –

- Negative, - the spy replied. – Actually, it's _too_ quiet. -

- My thoughts exactly. –

- Understood. Be on your guard. –

Bluestreak didn't have to be told twice. Staying perfectly still, he locked his gaze on the scope, watching everything through there. Nothing happened for many long moments, tension reigning in the air as both snipers waited for a sign, _any_ sign.

Then the metallic roar filled the silence, and it took all of Bluestreak's self-control not to flinch.

- That's not Ramhorn, - he whispered.

- No. It's Ravage, – Mirage said quietly.

- …How do you know? – Bluestreak asked, even though he suspected he wouldn't like the answer.

- He's on the top of the car pile you're hiding in. –

Bluestreak definitely didn't like the answer. And he didn't like it when he heard the metallic footsteps over his head. It was a good thing he had been on the bottom, hiding under three cars that protected him from the infected Cassetticon's paws.

The cars covering him shook under the weight of the quadruped walking over him, the clanking sound becoming almost deafening. And then Ravage landed in front of him, all red.

Time seemed to have stood still in that very moment. Bluestreak's air vents had ceased functioning as he held his breath. Fingers twitched nervously as Ravage was so close the gun was almost brushing his tail. But the Cassetticon had his back to him; he hadn't noticed anything... yet.

- Bluestreak… take the shot, – Mirage said quietly, tensely.

- He'll hear me, - Bluestreak answered.

- It will be too late if he sniffs you out. Take the shot. –

Bluestreak swallowed hard, his finger going slowly to the trigger. He kept his optics on Ravage at all times, monitoring every motion while trying not to make a sound. Even the slightest mistake would prove fatal if he weren't careful…

- Take him.-

Bluestreak reacted almost instinctively. The dart flew swiftly and sure, landing on Ravage's back before the Cassetticon realised what was going on. Bolts of electricity coursed through him, making him roar in pain, and then he collapsed, offline.

Even so, Bluestreak didn't move for many long moments, caution holding him in place. He'd rather he didn't approach only for Ravage to lunge back on his feet and bite him…

- You okay? – Mirage asked.

Bluestreak didn't answer at once, still keeping his optics on the offline form.

- Yes. Although, - with that he reloaded his gun. - I doubt that shot went unnoticed. –

- I doubt it too, - Mirage agreed. – But we'll be ready.-

Bluestreak nodded and then braced himself. This was going to be a long day.

* * *

_One month later…_

Light covered the world as the sun rose in the horizon, signifying the beginning of a new day. And yet there were no birds singing in the trees, nor animals or people circulating. If anyone bothered to simply listen, they would only hear the gentle rustling of leaves swaying in the breeze, and that would be the sole sign of life in the eerie stillness.

It was a world which, unfortunately, the only survivors of the catastrophe that had struck Earth barely a month ago, had grown accustomed to. Perceptor certainly seemed to think nothing of it as he walked towards the lab, a cube of energon in one hand and a datapad in the other. He barely looked up to find his way, knowing the route by heart and not having to worry about bumping onto fellow Autobots. For there was only one more Autobot with him in the city presently, and that one was already busy with another, grimmer task at hand.

The door to the lab opened with a light swoosh, and Perceptor made a beeline for the chair in front of the main computer. He put the datapad down, then activated the recorder in his arm.

"Chief scientist Perceptor's log, May 20th, 2006. Today, we're going to examine the results of antidote no 47, which has been used on organic test subjects 3, 5, 16, 17, 20, 25 and 38, as well as inorganic subjects 1, 2 and 7. The antidote was applied at 20:00 hours of the previous night and it was expected to take effect 20 minutes after application, with the effects lasting ten hours minimum." His free hand typed the new orders on the keyboard flawlessly, activating all the cameras that recorded the test subjects in question.

Rumble, Frenzy and Rewind appeared on screen, and Perceptor couldn't help but sigh at the sight. All three Cybertronians kept throwing themselves against the energy bars, screaming incoherently, an obvious sign that the antidote had no effect on them whatsoever. When Perceptor looked at the other cages, though, he noticed that the animals were more subdued. They were lying down, perfectly still… and there lay the problem. Perceptor shook his head and activated the recorder again.

"Antidote no 47 has been deemed ineffective on Cybertronians, lethal on organic life. Continuing experimentation on organic test subjects 1, 2, 12, 13 and inorganic test subjects 3, 4 and 5." With that done, he activated his communication frequencies. "Trailbreaker, do you copy?"

"Perfectly," Trailbreaker said. "Status report?"

"Cages 3, 5, 16, 17, 20, 25, and 38 have to be cleared out."

"Understood, I'm on it," Trailbreaker replied from the other end of the line. If Perceptor could see him, he would have noticed a very grim expression on the black mech's face, and for a very good reason. This past month they had been working painstakingly on the cure, through constant trial and error, and they only thing they could show for it was the pile of ashes of all the corpses they had to dispose of. Sighing, he activated his shield and walked inside the first cage to pick up the emaciated and very red horse that had been resident there till now.

And yet carrying the wretched thing wasn't the worst part. To get to the furnace, he had to pass by the cages that were still occupied. To see such small creatures – compared to him anyway – writhe and gnash their teeth at him, a bar's length away from reaching out and touching him, was more than just a little unnerving. One touch… all it took was one touch and then it was over…

"Perceptor?" he asked softly. "There's something I can't comprehend."

"Tell me," the scientist said.

"Are we certain that it's the experiments killing them off and not starvation? The way the contagion degenerates the chemical functions of the brain, making them forget even to eat seems to be pointing to that direction." He held up the horse, wincing at the limp body, its vacant eyes and its lifeless tongue hanging out of its mouth. "It didn't eat once, no matter how much food I put in the bowl."

"Well, in that case, the answer to that is yes and no."

"I can't say I quite follow," Trailbreaker said candidly.

A soft sigh reached him from the other end of the communication link. "Because of their sleep and nutrient deprivation, their bodies are weaker and more susceptible to the negative effects of the serum. Thus, though a perfectly healthy organism would have probably reacted better, it's not so in the case of our test subjects."

"The mechs don't seem to have that kind of setback," Trailbreaker pointed out.

"Well, we're a bit more fortunate in that department. Even if a Cybertronian is depleted of energy, the worst that is to be expected is a stasis-lock."

"I see…" the black mech said thoughtfully. He regarded the surviving animals for many long moments. "Perhaps a reduction of the dosage would help?"

"I've considered the option," Perceptor said. "But, even though it won't kill them, it won't have any sort of effect on them either. Worse, there is a chance that small dosages will enable the virus to grow an immunity of its own against the serum - even a mutation."

"A mutation?" Traibreaker echoed.

"So far, the virus is spread via physical contact alone. Do you have any idea what will happen if, at any point, the virus becomes airborne?"

Trailbreaker shuddered before he could help it.

"My point exactly," Perceptor said. "The key lies in the correct balance of all components aggressively and efficiently eliminating the virus before it manages to fight back."

The black mech couldn't argue with that. "Then let's hope we manage to find the key before our own resources are depleted," he said wryly. "Our stockpile isn't growing any larger."

"Bluestreak and Mirage might manage to find something in their outing."

"How long will it be before their return?"

Perceptor looked at the digital clock on the computer screen. "Six hours, give or take. They have to make their usual stop too."

"That's true," Trailbreaker said with a soft sigh and he resumed with clearing the cages. The growls and shouts were starting to get to him and he preferred not to stay there any longer.

* * *

"Did you ever think there would be a time that we would be able to drive in the centre of the city without worrying about traffic?" Bluestreak asked, practically driving in the middle of the road.

"Can't say that it has crossed my mind," Mirage said, driving alongside the former gunner. The two mechs were just about the only thing that broke the spell of silence that reigned in the city – and, apparently, the only thing alive and moving. Even so, there was no telling what or who could be lurking in the shadows, waiting in ambush, so they kept their sensors on at all times.

"So, in which direction should we head today?" Bluestreak asked.

"West," Mirage said. "It's just about the only area we haven't explored yet."

"Do you think we'll be able to find anything there?"

"There's only one way to find out," Mirage reasoned and he stepped on the gas. "Race you there?"

If Bluestreak were in his robot mode, his lip components would have tugged to a small grin. "Sure thing, Mirage."

Twenty minutes later, they were in the western district of the city. And even though calmness and quiet reigned in this part of the world too, Bluestreak couldn't help but wonder at the state the buildings were in. They seemed perfectly unharmed, almost immaculate. Not even a piece of debris in sight.

"That's weird… The centre looks like someone dropped a bomb, but here it almost looks like a Sunday afternoon," he noted.

"Down town was the first area to get hit, so they must have found time to evacuate," Mirage pointed out thoughtfully. "See that gas station over there to your left? It's even got locks on the door and everything."

Bluestreak directed his sensors to his left, seeing the gas station that Mirage was talking about. "Hey, you're right! It _is_ locked! Does that mean there could be survivors?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet," Mirage said. "Still, a gas station is good for one other thing."

"What's that?" Bluestreak asked.

"Nutrition," Mirage transformed in his robot mode and he headed up to the station in order to check the tanks. "Yeah, there's some in here. Should be enough to fill three, maybe even four energon cubes."

Bluestreak transformed and checked out the tanks, too. "We could have our lunch here and take the other two cubes to Perceptor and Trailbreaker."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Mirage said, taking out of subspace four empty cubes. "Check what you can find inside the building."

Bluestreak nodded and he knelt beside the small store. He dared a peek through the large window, but there was nothing out of the ordinary to see. Just rows upon rows filled with all kinds of human food.

"Do you think we should take these?" he asked Mirage.

"We'll need food for the infected back at the lab," Mirage replied.

"Not that they're eating," the gunner said with a sigh.

"You never know."

"I guess," Bluestreak admitted and held up his hand. "I just hate this part," he added wryly and hit the glass. The window shattered and the pieces scattered all over the ground, something that made the silver mech wince. "Do you think we will ever be able to make up for the damages we add to this mess?"

"I don't think they'll mind under these circumstances," Mirage said.

Bluestreak couldn't argue with that, so he simply put his arm through the window and closed his fist around a handful of food. Even as he leaned forward though, his optics caught sight of the wall behind the counter. And there, pinned in a small wooden board were pictures of a happy family, amidst about a dozen drawings that were clearly the work of a child.

"What's up?" Mirage asked.

Bluestreak pointed at the pictures. "That girl looks Daniel's age."

Mirage looked at the photos with a frown, and then let out a sigh. "Yeah."

Bluestreak still looked at the photo for many long moments, an unwelcome thought crossing his mind.

"We never found Spike or Carly…"

"This isn't the time to think about it, Bluestreak," Mirage said, placing a hand on the former gunner's shoulder. "Come on, we've got to move on."

Bluestreak knew that the Ligier was simply sparing him from that train of thought and so he didn't protest. What good would it do if he wondered on the who else had got infected? The fact that there were already so many was bad enough.

"Let's just go. Do we have any other stops?" he asked.

"Just the regular one," Mirage replied, and he transformed into his car mode once more.

* * *

Bluestreak had heard the particular place being called many names: Council Crest, Talbot's mountain, Glass Hill, Fairmount… Whatever the name, though, it was still the highest point in Portland and a place of getting together. Bluestreak himself had gone there more than just a few times, either alone or with company. And, even now, in its unkempt state, part of its beauty still remained intact.

Now wasn't the time to enjoy the view, though. What he and Mirage came here to do now was far more important.

"This is Autobot Mirage, accompanied by Autobot Bluestreak. We're not alone. There are others with us, and we're working on a cure. If there's anyone out there who can hear this, come by the bronze fountain right here in Council Crest at noon. We'll be here. We'll be waiting."

Mirage ended the transmission, then took out of subspace a crude metallic version of a baseball bat, clearly forged by several iron beams put together to give it proper shape. "Got the ball, Bluestreak?" he asked, smiling weakly.

"Right here," Bluestreak replied with a small smile of his own and took out a cybertronian-sized baseball. "Don't hit it too hard, it's about the last one I've managed to salvage from Hound's dorms."

"I won't," the Ligier promised.

Bluestreak couldn't help but wince, though, his mirth tainted. For he had noticed that there was a definite – albeit brief - sadness reflected in his fellow Autobot's optics.

"Sorry."

Mirage shook his head. "It's fine. Let's play ball."

The gunner nodded, and he tossed the ball so that Mirage would hit it. They kept at their game for some time, focusing on the score and some friendly banter and forgetting about the dystopia in which they were currently living in. Yet when their internal clocks beeped, the reality of the situation sank in once more and they sighed ruefully.

"Time to go back," Mirage said softly.

Bluestreak could only nod in silence and transform. Neither of them talked on their way to the lab, and they didn't share much talk with Perceptor and Trailbreaker once they had returned either. There wasn't much time anyway; they had to shut the windows and doors and check the defense turrets before calling it a night anyway. For though the four Autobots always came online with the hope that this day was going to be the day that they would get their break, that they would find the cure or that they weren't alone… the dusk crushed that hope, and the shadows surrounding them came along with the threat that that night would be their last and the nightmare of infection would come upon them in their sleep, ending everything.

TBC...


	5. And Then There Was One

"_Wake up! Wake up, Bluestreak!"_

_Bluestreak did, shocked to hear booming sounds that became stronger by the minute, even reverberating throughout his room. He looked up at the all-white femme, wide open optics locking on the visored, green ones. "Mother? What's happening?"_

"_I don't know, Blue, but we have to get out! Come on!"_

_She didn't wait for him to get back on his feet, not really. She just gripped his wrist, gently, but firmly, and practically dragged him out the room. All that was left for Bluestreak to do was to follow her, trying to make sense of the surreal situation he had found himself in and yet failing._

"_Where are we going?" _

_She opened her lip components to answer him, but he didn't manage to hear her. In that very moment, the deafening sound of an engine filled the air, so close that Bluestreak's audios rang in protest and muted everything else. And, before the young mech had to time to wonder what that was, he saw the ceiling cracking open, the debris ready to crash them both._

"_Bluestreak!"_

* * *

Bluestreak onlined his optics slowly, not really surprised to find himself in darkness. He was still aware that he was in the room that he had been calling his own since the outbreak, even if he could barely make out his surroundings. And of course, it clicked right then and there that what he had seen had been nothing more than a nightmare.

He smiled wryly. _Nothing more than a nightmare. _If he had reached to a position where reality was worse than any kind of made-up fantasy, then perhaps he should have kept on sleeping.

He checked his internal clock, trying to determine what time it was, and then sighed as he saw that it was half-past-six. It was time to get up, whether he liked it or not. So, he stood up with a mild wince and then removed the iron shutters from the window to allow the light of dawn to peek through. The lights had been off since a little after midnight in an attempt to conserve energy, and now he'd need whatever light there was in order to find his way around. True, he had learned the particular turf like the back of his hand by now, but he'd rather he didn't feel like he was a petro-mole living in underground tunnels. Besides, if there was light, he would be able see if any infected had managed to break in…

He shook his head, realising that he was letting his thoughts run away with him once again. He was sure the others had come online by now too, so he'd have to go find them in order to discuss about today's schedule. And he knew just were to go and meet them…

The first thing that Bluestreak's audios picked up as the former gunner headed towards the common room was the sound of talking, but he didn't recognize any of the voices. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he'd say that it sounded like a TV was on, and that would have been impossible; there had been no transmissions available since the outbreak.

He got his answer when he stepped inside. Mirage was sitting on the couch, a small energon cube in his hand – his meal for the day - and he was looking at the screen.

_Wheel of Morality turn, turn, turn_. _Tell us the lesson that we should learn…_

Ah… now it started making sense. Considering Animaniacs had finished airing a long time ago, Mirage was watching a vid. Still…

"I didn't believe you enjoyed those shows," he commented softly.

Mirage shrugged. "I merely grabbed the first DVDs I could get my hands on."

"Sideswipe will kill you."

"Before or after things have returned to normal?" the Ligier pointed out.

Bluestreak winced inwardly. "Right," he said softly, and he looked around in the hopes of finding something in order to change the topic. "Perceptor and Trailbreaker?"

"Getting ready to go out. It's our turn to stay in the lab this week," Mirage said, emptying the cube. "Have some nourishment first and meet me there."

"I will," Bluestreak said, and he headed towards their makeshift weapons' corner. Sure enough, Perceptor and Trailbreaker were already there, arming themselves with scanners and several extra weapons. It was strange seeing the scientist of all mechs to pick up a gun, but the gunner supposed that under the circumstances it would have probably been stupid not to.

"Hello guys," he said softly.

"And hello to you too," Trailbreaker said, smiling. "Came to see us off?"

Bluestreak nodded. "Where will you go?"

"Downtown. We need more medication to keep working on the formula," Perceptor replied. "Make sure the subjects are comfortable till our return."

"I will," Bluestreak replied.

"Anything else you can think of that we might need?" Trailbreaker asked.

The gunner shook his head.

"Okay, then. We're off. See you in four hours," the large black mech said, transforming.

"Take care," the gunner said.

"You too, Bluestreak," Perceptor said and, with that, transformed as well, placing himself inside Trailbreaker. The gunner simply watched them and then, once they disappeared out of sight, he went back to join Mirage in the lab. He could only hope that his friends stayed safe.

* * *

Comfortable silence reigned in the room as Bluestreak and Mirage sat in the lab, working. However, they weren't busy with feeding the subjects or checking the rations; they had done those a couple of hours ago. In fact, their current task at hand was closer to their actual field of expertise, and that was taking care of the arsenal. The last thing that any of them needed was their weapons to backfire on them or even jam at the most crucial moment.

The former gunner looked inside the barrel of his now dismantled rifle, trying to spot any dust inside, and then stretched a hand in Mirage's direction.

"May I have the brush, please?"

The item being placed in his hand was enough of an answer, and he started dusting the barrel inside. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," came the answer. A series of clicks and locking sounds indicated that Mirage had finished with his cleaning and was now re-assembling his rifle. Bluestreak looked up at the moment to see his fellow Autobot in action, but he was actually too late. The rifle was complete once more in its owner's hands.

"I'll never know how you can be so fast," Bluestreak said, shaking his head in amusement.

"What can I say? It's a gift," Mirage teased. His mirth was gone in a flash, however, when he directed his gaze to the computer. "Do you think Perceptor or Trailbreaker checked on the defence turrets?"

"I'm not sure," Bluestreak admitted thoughtfully. "But, if there was something that required our immediate attention, they would have let us know, wouldn't they?"

"I'd rather make sure." Mirage stood up, placing his rifle back in subspace.

"We could wait for the others," the gunner suggested softly. "The perimeter is pretty big for you to do on your own."

"I move faster on my own," the Ligier replied with a weak smile. "I'll be back before you know it."

Bluestreak really wasn't sure about this, but, on the other hand, he also understood that there was nothing more he could say to the matter. Mirage had already made his decision and he was going to stick to it. So, he had no choice but to nod his acquiescence.

"Be careful out there."

"Always," Mirage replied and, at the next moment, he activated his invisibility cloak. His footsteps echoed in the room briefly, but then ebbed as he exited. In the end, silence reigned in the room once more… but it was anything but comfortable this time. Bluestreak let out a soft sigh, and decided he should focus back on cleaning his gun. If anything, it would get his mind off his worries.

* * *

An hour later, neither Mirage nor the others had returned yet. By that time, Bluestreak had done everything in order to busy his body and mind. He checked the ammo supplies, the food supplies; that the computers were operating smoothly, that there were no problems with the pharmaceutical vials… even that there were no damages on the shutters – night was falling and he'd rather not have any infected ones spotting the lights. Now, however, he had to admit to himself that things were a lot more serious now. Perceptor and Trailbreaker were running late, and Mirage had exposed himself out in the open for too long; they could very well be in danger, and Bluestreak was just sitting cooped up in the lab.

He looked at the outside world via the computer screen, tapping his foot edgily. He could open his communication frequencies, but, if they were really in trouble, it would hardly help matters. No. He'd just wait five minutes more, and then he'd go out. In the meantime, he would keep looking at the screen in case he saw one of the three fellow Autobots.

The seconds ticked by slowly, almost painful so. But then, just as he was prepared to pick up his gun, he saw motion in one of the cameras. Holding his breath, he zoomed in to see who it was, but they had already moved out of range. Grabbing his gun, he went outside to meet the newcomer halfway.

"Who's there?" he demanded, holding his back against the wall.

"It's us!"

Bluestreak let out a sigh of relief as he recognized Trailbreaker's voice. "Is Perceptor with you?"

"Yes, I'm right here…"

Now that had Bluestreak frown; Perceptor's voice sounded weak. More importantly, the two of them should have shown up from around the corner by now.

His answer came a few moments afterwards, and his optics widened at the sight. Perceptor was limping and Trailbreaker had to offer his body frame as support. Worse, he could see fluid trickling down the scientist's side.

"What happened?!" he asked, hurrying up at them to help in any he could.

"Got caught by surprise," Trailbreaker replied grimly as they guided Perceptor on one of the chairs. "Bring me a fluid line; there should be one in the other room."

"Yeah, I know," Bluestreak said softly; he had checked the inventory not too long ago after all. It had been silly and pointless back then. But now, as he hurried to the medical supplies, he was grateful that he had actually gone through with it. He found the fluid line handed it over to the black mech in no time.

"Careful… You might rupture the other lines too," Perceptor said softly.

"Just try not to talk, Perceptor. Bluestreak, hold him down; this is definitely going to hurt," Trailbreaker said.

Bluestreak nodded his understanding and did as he was told. His hands rested on Perceptor's shoulders, and the scientist gripped him back, aware that this wasn't going to be pleasant.

"What about shutting down the pain receptors?" the former gunner suggested softly.

"No time," Trailbreaker said, and then gripped the fuel line.

Perceptor bit his lip component, trying to control himself; but he didn't manage to hold back a strained cry of pain. It was enough to make Bluestreak wince, feeling for the scientist in that moment.

"What happened?" he asked softly, looking at both of them as he pleaded for a straight answer.

"Bluestreak, now's not the best time…"

Perceptor placed a hand on Trailbreaker's arm, effectively stopping him mid-sentence. "He has the right to know."

Trailbreaker considered Perceptor's words, clearly hesitating. In the end, though, he let out a sigh and nodded his acquiescence. Still focused on Perceptor, tending to the gaping wound, he started telling the story from the beginning.

* * *

_Trailbreaker drove on through the lonely streets, still carrying Perceptor in the passenger's seat. He wasn't driving overly fast, trying not to jostle the boxes on the trunk too much because of the sensitive medical supplies that were inside. Even so, though, there was always some kind of bump on the road or other that he couldn't evade that easily. _

"_Sorry about that," Trailbreaker said another bump made him and Perceptor jump – quite literally._

"_Never mind, Trailbreaker, but do be careful next time," Perceptor replied patiently. "If we lose those vials, then we have wasted precious energy for nothing."_

"_I know," the black mech said. As silence followed, he cautiously – and with a fair amount of curiosity – scanned their surroundings, making sure there was no danger abound. "It's a particularly nice day to day."_

"_Indeed it is," Perceptor said thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should gather some samples on our next venture out."_

"_Any particular reason?" Trailbreaker asked. As far as he knew, they had gathered all the info they had needed concerning the virus._

"_Though plants don't seem visibly affected as of yet, there's a good chance that there might be other, subtle mutations when it comes to their genetic code. If that is the case, we have to find out about them and if they need to be dealt with."_

_Trailbreaker thought about that for several moments. "Fair enough, we'll just have to—Slag!" A deer jumped out of nowhere, red and frothing out of its mouth, catching him by surprise. He put on the brakes with all of his might, but it was all he could do to brace himself. Next thing he knew, he had skidded out of the road and to the gravelly ground, raising thick dust as dirt and stones scratched his underbelly. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he span round and round, trying to regain even a semblance of control and yet failing miserably; until, just when it seemed that he and Perceptor had been caught in an endless loop, everything came to a standstill. _

"…_Are you okay, Perceptor?" he asked, when his vocaliser finally complied once more._

"_I… I think so," Perceptor said weakly. Cogs whirred as the scientist slowly changed to his Autobot mode and got out before causing further damage on Trailbreaker. He winced as he saw the trail of fluid that he left behind him, and even more so when his hand felt the ruptured tube on his side; but there was no time to wonder about that. "Can you transform?" he asked Trailbreaker._

"_The boxes…"_

_Perceptor looked in the direction of the supplies and sighed. Everything had gotten smashed, the contents spilling on the ground and changing it to dirty muck._

"_There's nothing we can do." _

"… _Okay. Then try it is," Trailbreaker said. Groaning at the pain, he nevertheless gritted his dental plating and forced the transformation, one step at a time. "There…" he added, more than just a little breathlessly. He doubted he would try that again any time soon, though. _

"_That's a relief…" Perceptor started saying, but Trailbreaker was more concerned about the red form lunging at them._

"_LOOK OUT!" he cried out. His pain and strained bearings were instantly forgotten as he pushed the scientist out of the way and then rolled away to safety, not a moment too soon. Hound's fist landed on the ground with a loud clank, punching a hole through it at the very force. The uninfected mechs couldn't help but keep staring in horror as they tried to scramble out of range, unsure where he had come from and why they hadn't seen him coming till now. _

"_Looks like I'll have to try harder than that!" Hound declared, flashing red optics locking on Trailbreaker. "How about it, _buddy?_ Will you stay still for me?"_

_A shot rang through the air, and smoke burst out of Hound's back as Perceptor's aim proved good. However, in his berserk state, it didn't even so much as slow Hound down. It only made him turn round, his face distorted in an ugly expression of wrath._

"_You first then!" And with a terrible cry, he lunged anew, his fist ready to make contact with Perceptor's chest._

"_I don't think so!" Trailbreaker growled, his hand clenching around his gun. Three shots later, Hound dropped in a heap on the ground, and Trailbreaker was doing his best to get back on his feet._

"_Did you… terminate him?" Perceptor asked softly._

"_No, so we had best not linger," the black mech said, already helping the scientist up. "Come on!"_

* * *

Bluestreak swallowed hard as he listened to the end of the tale, for a terrible suspicion started crawling on the back of his mind. "Could it be that the deer was one of Hound's holograms?"

"It's more than just a probability," Perceptor said softly. "Which, unfortunately, leads to certain… implications."

"What do you mean?" the gunner asked.

"It means they're becoming more cunning. Worse, do you recall Hound's other special ability?"

Bluestreak frowned, unsure. Hound was always known best for his holograms; they had always saved the Autobots from some pretty close calls while dealing with the Decepticons. Could he use them as a trap for them then? He shook his head mentally. It wouldn't work again; their scanners would pick up on the deceit from now on. So why…?

Oh… Oh no…

* * *

_Hound… You and Cliffjumper are to scout on ahead for any Decepticon activity._

_Don't worry, Prime. If there are any Decepticons about, I'll sniff them out._

* * *

"He'll bring everyone here!" he exclaimed.

The words had barely escaped his mouth when Mirage appeared through the door, panting slightly and his rifle in hand.

"We've got infected coming our way!"

Everyone stared at Mirage, and then, as one, they turned towards the computer screen. And there, indeed, one red Autobot after the other appeared, destroying their way towards the lab. Towards _them._

"Oh no…" Bluestreak breathed out, the sight of the Infected attacking in an uncontrollable horde almost numbing him.

"This is no time to wonder!" Perceptor said at once, and he started typing furiously on the keyboard. The status of the defence turrets started flashing on screen and, the moment that the scientist pressed enter, the sound of blasters filled the air.

"Perceptor…!" But before Bluestreak could say anything else, Trailbreaker placed a hand on his shoulder.

"The blasters are set on stun, and that means it will only slow them down. We have to leave if we're to stay in one piece," he said.

The former gunner shook his head. "And where are we to go?!"

"We'll think about that later! Now come on!"

"I'll scout ahead," Mirage said, already activating his invisibility cloak.

"Don't wander too far off," Trailbreaker said, and then he turned to Perceptor. "Can you run?"

Perceptor didn't answer, still typing on the computer.

"Perceptor, there's no more time to be wasted! If you can run, we should go now!"

"The research is in the computer!" Perceptor cried. He looked up at the screen and watched as the bar showed the downloading progress.

_75%_

"We have everything stored in our memory databanks! We don't need another copy!"

"And if we don't get out alive?" Perceptor argued. "Somebody might find the research and pick up where we left off!"

"We won't get out alive unless we leave now!"

_90%_

"They keep pushing forward," Bluestreak said softly. Indeed, the rounds were dropping at an alarming rate, and yet the gunner could see the Infected were hardly daunted. Familiar faces like Tracks', Powerglides', the Twins' and Inferno's stood out in the front lines and, to top it all, he could discern Decepticon forms as well. It appeared that they hadn't escaped the curse of the plague either…

"Perceptor, it's now or never!"

Perceptor bit his lip component, clearly torn. In the end though, he reached his decision and pressed another button.

_Download cancelled._

"Good," Trailbreaker said. "Now come on."

Perceptor, however, shook his head. "I'm not coming."

"What?!"

"I'm still injured. I may be able to run for a short period of time, but I'll still end up slowing you down," the scientist reasoned. "I'll try to buy you three some time; I can do that at least."

"We need you!" Bluestreak cried.

"No, you don't. You have my intelligence, and the files of the research are in your databanks. Maybe there's still hope."

"But…!"

"Don't bother, Bluestreak," Trailbreaker said softly. "Perceptor has made his decision."

"Indeed, I have," Perceptor said, smiling weakly, almost… tiredly. "Now, please, go."

Bluestreak stared at the scientist for many long moments, trying to think of something, anything, to make him change his mind. Before he could come up with anything, though, Trailbreaker had already dragged him out of the lab and down the corridor.

"He was our best chance for a cure…" the gunner murmured.

"But not the only one. Let's make sure his sacrifice wasn't in vain," Trailbreaker replied, and then checked his surroundings. "Where's Mirage?"

"Right here," Mirage said, appearing before them. "There's a hallway that's still relatively safe. We should try to get away from there." He frowned when he realized that something was missing from the picture in front of him, though. "Where's Perceptor?"

Bluestreak and Trailbreaker shook their heads. It was enough as an answer.

"Oh…" the Ligier said softly, realization catching up with him.

"There's time for regret later," Trailbreaker said at once. "Now show us that hallway."

"Right… Follow me." And with that, Mirage rushed ahead, his rifle in hand.

Trailbreaker and Bluestreak took out their own guns, aware that they'd probably have to fight their way through, and hurried after Mirage. Even as they ran, Bluestreak could hear the blasters and the cries of indignant Infected, reverberating through the halls and, worse, he could tell that they were coming closer and closer, until they were practically surrounding them.

And then they all came to a screeching halt as they saw what awaited them at the end of the corridor.

"Hey, buddy," Hound said, smirking in Mirage's direction. "Long time no see. And I see you've brought company too."

Mirage clenched his dental plating and aimed his rifle at the former green mech. "I don't know who you are, but you're not Hound!"

"Good. For a moment I thought you were going to say 'I know you're in there somewhere, Hound. Fight it, please!'" Hound laughed cruelly. "It would only make you sound even more pathetic."

Mirage never had the chance to retort, for Hound lunged at him with the force of a wildcat.

"No!" Bluestreak cried.

A single shot from Mirage's rifle was enough to send Hound tumbling on the floor, without giving him the chance to touch him. Time seemed to have stood still and everyone was frozen in place, a spell that was broken when Mirage reloaded his weapon, its sharp click cutting through the air like a knife.

"Well… That's that."

Bluestreak couldn't help but wince at how lifeless Mirage sounded in that moment. "Did you…?"

"Self-repair systems will kick in," Trailbreaker said at once, assuaging the gunner's fears. "But they must have heard that shot; more could be coming."

"Then there's one thing left to do," the spy said, cocking his rifle. "The hallway is that way. Head straight ahead and then to the right."

"What about you?" Bluestreak said, aghast. But, something in Mirage's made him realize the horrible suspicion that had already started crawling in the back of his mind. "No… You'll only become Infected, too."

"I'm counting on it," was all that the spy said and, before either Trailbreaker or Bluestreak could stop him, he headed to the direction of the chaos. His rifle sounded again, not to far away… and Bluestreak could have sworn that he had heard Slingshot's voice crying out in pain. And then a second blast… and a third…

He didn't have the chance to hear more; Trailbreaker dragged him down the hallway.

"No… we have to do something!" Bluestreak cried. "If he gets infected, he'll just fight everything and everyone."

"Exactly… he's buying us some more time. Just like Perceptor."

"But…"

"I know. I know, Bluestreak," Trailbreaker said, stopping to face him. "But right now at least one of us has to get out alive."

"O-One?"

"Yes. One."

Bluestreak would have preferred to understand what the black mech was talking about, but Trailbreaker simply prodded him forward. They locked every door that they passed through, hoping to slow down the Infected even further. But, even as they reached to the exit, Bluestreak was shocked to see Trailbreaker stopping on his tracks.

"What are you doing?!"

Trailbreaker didn't answer, not in words anyway. He simply held up his hands, and the shimmering glimmer of a force-field forming in the exit.

"Bluestreak… Run. Find another lab. Continue what we started."

It finally hit Bluestreak, and the realization made the fluid run cold in his tubes. "No!"

"Go! You're our final chance!"

"Why me?!" Bluestreak cried. "We can both survive this. We can both try and find a cure! Don't do this!"

"No can do, Bluestreak. I'm wounded too; I'll only slow you down," Trailbreaker said. "I don't intend to lose any others I could have protected, so go."

"Please, don't, I don't want to be all alone again, please…!" Bluestreak begged, almost in tears now.

"THAT'S AN ORDER, SOLDIER!"

Bluestreak flinched before he could help it. He had never seen Trailbreaker pull a rank before, not even a month ago when, the whole mess had started. But now it looked that he was becoming desperate. Desperate in his hope that someone, _anyone,_ would live and help those who needed said help.

"Yes, sir…" he finally whispered.

He didn't bother to hear Trailbreaker's reply; the fellow Autobot wouldn't have wanted him to stall further anyway. So he transformed and drove away at top speed, leaving everything behind. The danger, his enemies, his friends and his hopes alike. He didn't stop but only when exhaustion caught up with him, and the sun was setting by then, bathing everything with its golden light. Yet Bluestreak didn't care for such meaningless things anymore. Mustering the last of his strength, he changed back into his robot form and staggered to the direction of a cave that his sensors picked up.

That was the last thing he remembered before he collapsed on the rough surface of the cave, the loud clanking sound echoing in every direction before silence reigned once more.

* * *

Morning dew clung onto the blades of grass gracing the peak of Glass Hill as the sun hadn't risen as of yet – it was too early in the morning. Everything was perfectly still and quiet, not a mouse or a leaf stirring in this eerie world of pre-dawn. It was also the perfect time for a single form to move, his silver body blending perfectly with the colours of grey that surrounded him. If there was anyone else around to witness the curiousity, they would think that a tormented ghost roamed in search of some measure of peace. For indeed, only the burden of torment could be so heavy to make even shoulders of steel slump forward and feet of pistons and titanium bearings to forge on in slow, dragging motions.

But there was no one around. Just the lone Autobot, heading to the familiar spot that he had come through time and time again. Only… he hadn't been alone then.

"This is Autobot Bluestreak, sole survivor of the team that was researching for the cure of the Hate Plague. If there's anyone who can hear this, please reply so I'll know I'm not alone. Give me a sign that you're out there, and you're stuck the same as I am. Tell me that this isn't the end.

Please…"

The silence reigned anew, merciless in its truth.

"Please…"

Nothing. Not even the slightest gust of wind, as if nature herself had died.

"Somebody talk to me…"

Yet the silence persisted.

TBC...


	6. Survival

Morning came, replaced by noon, and then afternoon. The sun hadn't appeared at all, hidden behind black clouds as if unwilling to brighten the ugliness that reigned in the world. As for Bluestreak himself, he hadn't moved from his make-shift perch up at the mountain, his optics scanning the horizon slowly and in a disheartening manner.

There was nothing. Nothing to see and nothing to hear. He was alone. Just as he had been then.

* * *

_He onlined his optics with a wince, his body feeling sore and aching in more than just several places. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could feel a strange weight on his back, but, fortunately, it wasn't big enough to pin him down. _

_And yet, did he really want to get up? Beams, darkness, debris and dust were the only things surrounding him. Had that been his home? Where was the sunlight? _

"_Mother?" His voice failed him and he had no choice but to cough; the dust had even reached his vocaliser, straining it. "Mother?"_

_There was no answer, and he now realized that he couldn't stay like this. Gritting his dental plating, he pushed himself on his hands and knees, ridding himself of the debris that had landed on him in the process. He looked up, finally seeing the sky high above, clear and star-filled. But it was still so quiet… shouldn't they be looking for him?_

_A part of him tried to dissuade him from looking further, that he should stay where he was. But curiosity is a powerful thing, and Bluestreak caught himself climbing out anyway. _

_When he stood on the top of the debris, however, he found out he was the only thing left standing._

* * *

Bluestreak hugged his knees even more tightly, the sense of hopelessness washing through him and crumbling everything in his spark. What was he to do? Who could he turn to for help where there was no one anymore?

_Should that stop you?_

"I can't do it," he whispered, replying to the Prowl-esque voice of reason.

_Yes, you can. You always could. It's what has kept you alive all these years._

"Why should it always be me?"

_The more important question is what is your next course of action?_

"There isn't any! It's done! It's over!"

_You have a pair of working legs and your wits. Get up and use them both, or the alternative is to wait here till you too are infected. What will it be?_

Bluestreak bit his lip component and then laughed weakly.

"Great… I'm getting into an argument with myself and I lose. I really am going crazy…"

Would it be saner if he went looking for the Infected in order to get the Hate Plague?

He pursed his lips, the answer to that perfectly clear, and stood up. He looked straight down to the city, the gears in his mind working as he tried to figure out what he should first. What did he know about the Hate Plague?

It's highly contagious, came the answer.

So… he had to make sure that he was protected, at least on his hands and legs. That meant that he had to find things that could serve as gloves and footwear. Where though?

He had finally found what he had been looking for in an abandoned factory, in the outskirts of the city. He had never realized before that there could be so much fabric in one place, but now he could put that kind of newly-found information to good use. For though he was certainly no tailor, he knew that there was now a good chance he'd infect himself if he accidentally touched or stepped on something, and he had to make sure that that didn't happen. So, even when the fabric slipped out of his hands or his fingers got pricked by the makeshift needle more times than he would have liked to admit, or even when there was no light to help him see, he persisted; until, finally, his persistence was paid off.

Bluestreak moved his hands and wrists in all directions, making sure that the 'gloves' didn't prevent any of his motions. They weren't pretty by a long shot – in fact, he looked like he had broken his arms and placed them in a cast. Even so, there was no doubt that they were sturdy and, moreover, they could loosen and fall off if he pulled a single rope; he'd need that if he ever had to transform and drive away fast.

"Good," he said softly, examining them one last time, and then he tried out his 'boots'. "Nothing wrong here either…"

If anyone heard him now, talking to himself like that, they would have thought that Bluestreak had gone mad. The truth of the matter was, however, that talking to himself was keeping Bluestreak sane. He didn't want to be reminded that there was no one to actually talk to if he could help it…

"Now… what else do we need?"

_An extra pair of eyes. _

"Definitely," he murmured. There was a good chance that someone could be lurking behind corners, or try to ambush him from behind. Unfortunately, he didn't have optics on his back…

Or did he? His hand felt the mirrors on his shoulders. They were mere accessories in his current mode, standing out because they wouldn't fit anywhere else. But as an idea formed on his mind, he could definitely find a use for them even now…

_It will hurt, _came the warning.

"It will hurt more if I'm grabbed from behind and beaten to scrapheap," he said determinately, and he instantly yanked the first mirror. His pain sensors beeped, nearly overloading his systems, and he had to bite his lip component so that the cry that begged to tear out of his chest plate stayed in his vocaliser.

"Primus, damn it…" he whispered, closing his optics. Tears sprang up, but he forced them in check. No good would come of it he started crying, after all - especially since he had to tear out the _second _mirror.

Swallowing hard, his hand reached for it, and he took a few deep breaths to brace himself for the incoming pain.

"One…" He could do this…

"Two…" A tug and that would be it…

"…Three."

The pain coursing through him as he tore the mirror off was the last thing he registered before passing out.

* * *

Bluestreak pressed himself against the wall and then extended the iron pole, his optics focusing on the mirror that was attached to the other end. The buildings and that stood in misery just around the corner were reflected down to the last detail, and, more importantly, it looked like there was nothing lurking in the shadows, waiting in ambush. Logically, he could step out.

Then again, since when did this world work on logic? Preferring to be paranoid rather than dead, he picked up a rock and rolled it as far away from him as possible.

Nothing happened. No guns going out, no Infected jumping out of hiding places, not even so much as a reaction from any small critters that could be lurking about. The coast was clear.

"Okay…" With that final word of reassurance, Bluestreak took a deep breath and he crossed the abandoned road, making a beeline for the place he hadn't believed he would actually see again: Dr. Morgan's research facility.

"Dr. Morgan?"

There was no answer, but that wasn't what truly unnerved the mech. The lab was in an even worse state since the last time he had been here, something that he hadn't thought it was possible. Cocking his gun, he kept his back to the wall and forged on. It would have probably been best if he had attempted to turn on the lights, but there was also the chance that he'd alert something unpleasant. No. Moving in darkness and his gun in hand was the best option.

Finally, after what had felt like an eternity, Bluestreak reached the laboratory… and then his jaw tightened. The entrance to the laboratory was no longer blocked, and the door was wide open, the signs of the break-in plain to see. And once he stepped in, cautiously and his gun still in hand, he wasn't surprised to see that Dr. Morgan was nowhere to be seen. The silver mech had wanted to think that justice had been served but, truth be told, he couldn't bring himself to do that. After living in the fear of the Hate Plague for so long, the only thing he could feel was pity.

Yet… that was neither here nor there. Since he couldn't ask for Dr. Morgan's help anymore, he could at least try and use the computer and see if he could use for his own findings…

His train of thought came to a screeching halt when he caught sight of the computer itself, smashed in and with its wires hanging out.

"Oh man…" He stared at the useless machine for many long moments, trying to understand what must have happened to it. It couldn't have been Dr. Morgan's handiwork; whoever was behind this had been in stampeding, gun-totting rampage – one of the Infected.

_And yet knew what to destroy exactly? _Indeed, the computer was just about the only piece of equipment that had fallen victim to the Infected people's savagery. If Bluestreak didn't know any better, he'd say that the Infected had deliberately destroyed the computer to ensure no one would be able to use it.

_Maybe they had._

Bluestreak swallowed hard, the prospect terrifying him. But could he really deny the evidence before him? After looking around to make sure that he really was alone, he got out of subspace a small recorder.

"Gunner Bluestreak's log_, _30th May, 2006. I came to Dr. Morgan's lab in the hopes of finding him still here. Unfortunately, the Infected got to him first. Worse, it seems the theory that Perceptor, that _all_ of us, had formed considering the Infected has been erroneous. Though there is clear degeneration of the thought processes because of the Hate Plague virus, it's not the sole symptom. Given time, the thought patterns change to accommodate the new urge that is reigning over the Infected's instincts: to destroy all life. The Infected ones that we had kept in our lab had shown no signs of that… evolution. Yet I'm now convinced that the attack in the lab of the Autobot City was far from the product of blind rage, just as I now realize that the Infected formerly known as Hound had used the ambush consciously, aware of the damage he'd cause." He paused for a brief moment, pursing his lips in thought. "If that is true, there's a good chance that I'm hunted, and it won't be long before I'm either infected… or dead. Till that happens, I'll forge my way through zone zero in the hopes of finding new evidence and clues to the cure. I highly doubt I'll be the one to finally save us all, or there is anyone left to pick up where I'll leave off… but the alternative is unthinkable."

With that, he turned off the recorder and walked out of the research facility. There was nothing more he could do here.

* * *

After hours of wandering, Bluestreak came up with nothing. No functioning research facilities, no medication that he could use in order to experiment on an antidote… not even so much as a gas station to refuel himself. He was cold, hungry and tired, unsure if he could take another step. If the Infected were trying to weaken him and render him vulnerable, they were certainly doing a good job at it…

Even so, he still marched on, his footsteps the only thing that sounded for miles and miles. In fact, he was surprised that no one had attacked him by now. They probably didn't know where he was, he supposed. If that were the case, though, he wasn't sure how long his lucky streak would last. Could he really escape his fate twice?

* * *

"_Hello?"_

_There was no reply. The silence reigned, practically smothering the only living thing in the desolate kingdom._

"_Hello? Somebody?" Bluestreak cried again, cupping his hands around his mouth to make himself heard; but it was in vain. If anyone was alive, they were definitely not in his vicinity._

_The young mech sighed softly, allowing himself to fall on his knees. His steel bearings were aching and his back wasn't doing so well either; he could feel fluid flowing slowly but surely down his chassis, dripping on the dusty path that used to be a highway. He wanted to cry, but he didn't think he had the strength for it. He just wanted to see somebody, anybody… He didn't want to be left alone…_

_It was then that he heard it: the same roaring engine, faint at first, but coming closer by the minute. Was it possible that there was another attack on the way? _

_Terror gripped his spark, and he found himself falling head first to the ground. Whatever it was, he'd just stay right there and let it pass. All he had to do was be perfectly still and perfectly quiet - make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible and hope no one would see him._

_The roar reached to a deafening crescendo and then the mech heard the unmistakable sound of transforming. Instinct, however, warned him not to move so much as a gear; that he was in terrible danger. All he did was strain his optics to catch a glimpse of the newcomer, trying to figure them out._

_If he had any doubts he was in trouble before, seeing the Cybertronian towering over the debris had driven every single one of them away. He could see the Decepticon insignia on his shoulder, and the purple mech's red optics scanned the area in less than a friendly manner. He was obviously ready to shoot everything in sight and, worse, he was too close to where Bluestreak was hiding. All he had to do was look in his direction and it would be over… _

"_Skywarp here. I'm in the no mech's land," the Transformer said, activating his communication frequencies._

Don't say a word, don't move, don't breathe...

"_No, doesn't look like anyone survived the bombardment."_

They were behind the attack then… But why? What could they gain by doing that?

_No… it didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was that he had to be very quiet and very, very still, or it would be the end of him…_

"_Wait a minute… There's something here."_

Oh Primus, no, no… not me, not me…

_The Decepticon's – Skywarp's – footsteps echoed almost deafeningly in his audios, making his spark pulsate in an insane rhythm. And then Bluestreak saw him taking aim…_

_The shot and painful cry afterwards rang throughout the desolate city… but Bluestreak hadn't been hit. In fact, Skywarp's attention had been caught elsewhere as he dug with his foot several metal beams to uncover a petro-rat. The critter wasn't moving, its circuits fried and its optics closed._

"_Scratch that. Nothing to worry about," Skywarp said with a smirk._

_It took all of Bluestreak's willpower to not be sick right then and there. Or, perhaps… he was too terrified to do even that… He didn't even register the Decepticon taking off once more until he was well and truly gone…_

* * *

_Don't speak. Don't breathe. Don't make a sound._ That had been his mantra till he had reached help and, even after that, silence had become mandatory for him - no sound came out of him. Until Prowl had come along…

A snapping sound to his right cut off his memories violently, and Bluestreak turned around at once, his rifle in hand and ready to fire. What he saw, however, wasn't the red terror in the form of an old friend or an old enemy, but a weak, emaciated dog, staggering weakly in his direction. Bluestreak's optics widened slightly at that and, before he even realized what he was doing, he knelt close to the animal. He was almost certain that the dog would run away at the sight of the metallic giant, but the dog did no such thing. It simply whined softly, wagging its tail weakly and bowing in an unthreatening manner; it was obvious it was desperate for some food.

"Poor thing…" Bluestreak said softly. He reached out and picked the dog up, examining it more closely. The dog didn't seem to mind being handled by the cold metal fingers, licking them gently instead.

"Where did you come from, hm?" the mech whispered, smiling weakly. "You alone too?"

The dog couldn't reply, of course. Even so, the large brown eyes said everything, and Bluestreak couldn't help but feel for the creature.

"Come on," he said, cupping his hand gently so as to make sure the dog wouldn't fall off his palm, "I may not have found any fuel for me, but I'm sure I can find something for you."

The dog wagged his tail once as if he had understood, trusting the metal being whole-heartedly even as it moved in large steps, the whole chassis shaking. Bluestreak didn't think that it was possible, but that filled his spark with warmth and he stroked the small head carefully.

"Now… what shall we call you?" he mused. "You don't look like a Sam. Maybe Wolfie? No…"

And the world grew quiet once more as the two of them vanished in the distance, no other witnesses but the desecrated corpses of the buildings…


	7. On The Move

The large shepherd dog barely moved a muscle, his eyes fixed on the prize that was several feet away. He couldn't see it, since the grass was almost as tall as he was. But he could definitely smell it and hear it. The violent rustling of the leaves reached his ears only too clearly, and his nostrils twitched at the scent of the two 'bad meats', still fighting between themselves. It was a scene that he had witnessed a lot lately, unsure what caused it. This wasn't about fighting for a mate, or even fighting about food or dominance. This was about fighting for the sake of fighting, anger and hatred filling the air. It was wrong, unnatural… and frightening.

That was why he had kept himself hidden for so long, afraid and uncertain, even as hunger and thirst kept tearing his insides. For he had been aware that those foes were beyond him, and if he had tried to engage in combat, he wouldn't have survived the encounter. Thankfully, though, that had changed with the appearance of the metal companion. He had smelled right. More importantly, he had been kind, his tone and touch gentle as he had given him the food and water that he had longed for. Someone who could provide so much so generously was a worthy alpha, and the least he could do was stay close and offer his services. That was how they had become a pack, with each their own part to play in order to survive.

He took another step, slowly and carefully so as not to make a sound. Not that it would have mattered. The 'bad meats' were more interested in fighting rather than anything else and this time was no exception. Still, he didn't want to mess things up. Fetching 'bad meats' unharmed was something that pleased his metal alpha.

Another step brought him closer, the scent filling his nostrils now. This was his chance. He was at the perfect distance to lunge and catch them by surprise. He _was _going to bring his prize to his alpha, one way or another. Failure wasn't an option. With that, his whole body snapped into action, his weapons bared and putting them into good use for the sake of the pack.

* * *

Bluestreak looked up at the sound of light footsteps, only to smile gently as he saw Max returning with an infected rabbit in his mouth. The dog seemed very proud of himself as he trotted towards him with his tail held high, not seeming to mind the struggle that smaller creature put up as it tried to escape his grasp.

"What have you got for me there, boy?" the large mech asked. Though he kept his tone light, he took extra care while putting on his gloves. Rabbits were small and, worse, with quite the sharp teeth; all it would take was one small tear and then Bluestreak would be in danger. "Okay… drop it."

Max complied, loosening his jaws. Though the rabbit got ready to bolt, Bluestreak turned out to be faster as he closed his palm around it carefully, and then confined in the small cage that he had prepared for it. Max wagged his tail in a happy manner, glad that the hunt had gone so well.

"Good boy," Bluestreak said, stroking the dog's head gently. "Here's the treat."

Max cocked his head, and then barked happily as he noticed the small bowl in his master's other hand, full with dog food. His mouth watered quite visibly and he got ready to dig in.

"Wait," Bluestreak instructed.

The dog looked up, something that made the mech smile. Dogs always seemed to live in the present. You could give them an order about a dozen times and still act surprised.

"Sit."

The dog's expression seemed to change one of understanding as he obeyed.

"Shake," Bluestreak said again, holding out an index finger.

Max placed a paw on the finger, eager to please.

"The other paw."

Max shifted, putting on the large finger his left paw.

"Play dead."

Max instantly lay flat on his back, all four legs dangling in the air.

"Silly dog…" Bluestreak said affectionately before giving his final command. "Okay."

Max practically jumped back on his feet and started eating as if there was no tomorrow. Not that Bluestreak blamed him really, considering how scarce food was. Fortunately, Bluestreak still had the maps of the city downloaded in his database, and he knew which places were worth scanning for supplies. As for Max… well, his nose managed to pinpoint the building with the most food or fuel and then retrieve them just fine. It was easier for a dog to go in through an open window and pick up things of interest with his mouth than a mech to just tear down a wall and rummage unsuccessfully around, after all. If that didn't already make Max invaluable, the second thing that Bluestreak had discovered about the dog certainly did the trick.

The infected rabbit continued attacking the latched door, making his cage practically shake. Bluestreak sighed at the sight and he picked it up, deciding it to put it aside with the rest of the other specimens that Max had been able to collect for him.

Max didn't so much as lift his gaze as Bluestreak got up from his makeshift seat and headed to the entrance of the cave. In fact, he didn't even flinch as the large mech pushed away the large rock covering the entrance. It was a ritual that he had grown accustomed to and, besides, his master's business wasn't necessarily his; he would be called when needed. At least, that's what Bluestreak supposed went through his companion's mind.

"Okay, in you go," he said, addressing the infected rabbit as he put it in one of the ledges, currently serving as shelves for his own private storehouse. He didn't let the shrieks and growls distract him as he looked around at the other cages and counted them silently, reaching at number twenty.

"Not bad," he murmured with a weak smile, and then activated his datalog. "Gunner Bluestreak's log, 27th June, 2006. It took a few weeks of care and training, but Max has become strong and able to help me in my research. His natural immunity to the Hate Plague has provided me with hope for the future, for now I know that I have a chance to create an antidote with his blood. I've taken a sample yesterday – though he didn't like the needle, poor thing – and I now have enough specimens and materials in order to start the experimentation anew. It's… It's a long shot, I have to admit; I'm not even sure I know what I'm doing, despite the knowledge Perceptor has passed down to me. Nevertheless, the prospect is a lot better than it was till a month ago."

With that, Bluestreak turned off his log and stepped outside once more. He and Max were going to visit the cave tomorrow, after making sure that no one was watching them. For in this last month, he kept picking up signatures of the Infected every which way, a sign that not they were tracking down, but their web closed around him slowly and steadily. His only solution was to keep moving, to keep them guessing as to where he was… and hope he'd have enough time to fix things before it was too late.

Ah, there it was. Max was tense once more, his ears pricked up and his eyes wide. He had sensed what Bluestreak easily detected, his sense of smell – or instinct of survival, take your pick – just as strong and infallible as Bluestreak's scanners. At least one Infected was close by, and they had to leave before they were discovered. Without losing much time, he closed the entrance of the cave with the large rock, and then beckoned Max silently to him.

Max complied, his food forgotten. Already used to the routine, he had settled on the stretched palm and allowed Bluestreak to place him on the hard surface of his right shoulder. It wasn't the best spot for a pet unless they were a parrot, but it was nevertheless ample and comfortable enough for the dog when they were on the move. Besides, Bluestreak didn't intend to transform. It was far too noisy and there was the matter of the fume trail to be considered. No, this was the time for subtlety and discretion. That's how Prowl would have put it anyway…

"Shh…" Bluestreak instructed the dog and, using the cover of the rocky terrain, they treaded silently and swiftly away from the cave, very much like shadows.

* * *

Night fell swiftly, bringing thunder and rain along with it. Fortunately, Bluestreak had learned Portland like the back of his hand after so much wandering and exploration, and he knew just the right for him and Max to spend the night. An abandoned factory could provide a warm, cozy nest, even if one of the walls was crumpled down; at least the roof was intact.

"Here we go…" Bluestreak murmured at Max, lowering him down on the floor. "Ready to call it a night?"

The shepherd dog wagged his tail in apparent affirmation, so Bluestreak took out of subspace a small blanket, placing it right next to him.

"Lie down then."

Max trotted happily to the blanket, making a couple of circles around it before finally settling down with a small croon of content. Bluestreak couldn't help but smile at that, and he gently stroked the dog's back.

"Good dog."

Max simply closed his eyes, the affectionate petting swiftly lulling him to sleep. Bluestreak wished he could have done the same, but, alas, he had to keep an optic open for any Infected. The thunderstorm blocked almost all noise, and the flashes of light could easily blind him at the most inconvenient moment. On the other hand, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to sleep even if he tried…

His thoughts were cut abruptly when, as lightning brightened everything in the briefest of moments, he saw Hound standing just outside the cracked wall, his blazing optics locked on Bluestreak – he had seen him! Gasping, Bluestreak reached for his gun, but Hound was onto him in a leap, hands stretching out as claws ready to rip him in shreds…

Bluestreak online his optics, arms flailing as he continued struggling a foe that, as realization slowly dawned on him, wasn't there. Just the rain, the dark, and himself.

When had he fallen asleep and why hadn't he even noticed?

A whine snapped him out of it and looked down. Poor Max was regarding him with an expression that could only be described as worried. Before he realized what he was doing, Bluestreak gently picked up the dog and cradled him close.

"Just a dream," he murmured. "I'm okay now."

Except… he wasn't. Not really. For it now looked like that, if the Infected didn't get to him, fear and insanity would.

_Primus, let Max's blood work..._ Bluestreak thought desperately._ I don't think I'll be able to take it much longer…_

Little had he known that Primus had other plans in store.

**TBC...**


End file.
